The Dragon's Dowry
by Dusk Dreaming
Summary: As Arthur and Merlin's fortunes rise, they are shadowed by dangerous foes both mundane and magical. When news arrives of devastating dragon attacks to the North, Merlin must learn how much control a human, even a Dragonlord, can exert over these ancient beasts. With his secret revealed, can he win back Arthur's trust and atone for his mistakes? Chaotic AU, probable softcore Merthur
1. A Knight's Duty

The mild spring sun was climbing the sky as Elyan and Gawaine thundered into the outskirts of Camelot, their rounceys kicking up soil from the poor dirt roads. Sometimes fiercely competitive, the two knights were presently content to ride shoulder to shoulder, each maintaining a swift trot that sometimes burst into a canter, neither rider pulling ahead, but neither yet allowing himself to fall behind. The reason for their restraint was apparent from the sweaty flanks of their horses, the braces of fresh game that bulged from their saddlebags, and their own soiled vestments.

Though Elyan had grown up with that distrust of knights found among commoners with more pride than wealth, he could not deny there were certain advantages to the post conferred upon him by Arthur. Not so long ago, he could never have dreamt of owning a mount like this, it being worth many times even a prosperous merchant's yearly income. And now, the blacksmith's son who had been more at home shoeing warhorses than riding them, or tempering longswords than duelling with one, was sallying out of castles before dawn to divert himself by hunting in the woods. If he weren't careful he would soon be writing poetry on the comeliness of some Norman wench's nose and eyebrows, and then there would be no hope for him.

While he esteemed the company of all his brothers who had been knighted by Arthur at the Round Table, Elyan often went riding with Gawaine, for the Eireian knight's affable manner, good humour, empathy for the lowborn, and self-conscious cynicism towards his own knighthood, made him especially dear to Elyan's heart. Indeed, Gawaine had greatly aided Elyan in improving his skills in riding, swordplay, etiquette, and hunting with hawk and hound. While Elyan possessed the strength of sinews that had once worked the bellows in his father's forge, and knew how to fight like a man-at-arms, he had never heretofore known the art of swordcraft as practiced by the chevaliers.

Gawaine had also professed ignorance of these subjects before his knighthood, and Elyan mostly believed him, for he had seen Gawaine's poverty and manner of living before that fateful night they first retook Camelot. And yet, the speed with which Gawaine had mastered these knightly talents, together with the subtle eloquence that lay behind his rough speech, and the dignified carriage that was concealed within his rough vagrant's charm like a silk lining sewn into a shabby cloak, had given Elyan cause to wonder about the other knight's childhood, concerning which he seldom volunteered any facts. It was not uncommon for persons whose fortunes had risen or fallen to conceal their pasts, particularly when that upheaval had been violent.

"Look at us now!" laughed Gawaine, as they approached the great walls of the city, the small farmsteads around them long having given way to even smaller and more densely packed huts. "A couple of ne'er-do-wells who couldn't have scraped together enough copper for an old donkey. And now we ride for the court of Camelot, mounted like a couple of kings, soon to be made the equals of those haughty barons and sour-faced old duchesses!" And indeed Gawaine, with his dark mane flying in the wind, and scarlet cloak streaming behind him, looked more the part of a king than many true regents in all of Albion.

As they passed through the great gates and trotted into Lowtown, the guards waving them through with naught but a salute, throngs of people parted before them. Knights were no rare sight in Camelot, yet many of the common folk stopped to watch, some with wonder and awe in their eyes, others with wariness. Elyan much preferred the latter. The former were like flocks of sheep gazing in awe at wolves that roamed among them. For most of his life Elyan had been one of those unfortunates down below with weatherbeaten faces, drab clothes and desperate eyes. Astride his bay horse, he felt unnaturally far above them, like a mountain peak jutting out of a sea of foaming misery. It pricked his conscience, and not for the first time, he wondered what effect it wrought on the minds of knights born, to be so far elevated above the masses they ruled, both physically and spiritually. _May I never forget what it is to be scrounging down there for a scrap of old bread, _he thought.

Yet today he should push those thoughts out of his head. Would not today show, of all days, how true Arthur was in his intentions to drag Camelot towards his own vision, unwilling though she might be? Hadn't the king courted a serving girl and made commoners his most intimate friends and brothers-in-arms, preferring their companionship over the love of nobles many times fitter in birthright, estate, and influence? Hadn't he incurred the wrath of his own kin and courtiers to assert that nobility could be discerned not merely by examining one's pedigree, but by studying one's character?

Elyan's father had toiled his whole life to forge lance and plate that the law forbade him to wear, reserving them for men of better birth. A lifetime of blistered, soot-blackened hands, fingers gnarled from overwork, a stooped back, lungs that coughed up inhaled vapour, eyes runny from fumes, and the reward for all these: a modest home leased from a grasping landlord, and a life of drudgery for his daughter. Meanwhile the fruits of his honest labour, cartload of sword after shining sword, had been taken up to the armouries of the proud lords who earned this tribute by sitting idle in silks, playing at war games, and riding the countryside in search of romantic adventures.

Today Elyan would irrefutably receive the right to bear those arms his father had crafted but never worn. Surely that was a thing worth celebrating. Lowtown certainly seemed to think so, the markets even busier than was usual on ceremonial occasions. Traders plied a brisker commerce than they had in months, mummers and musicians amused the crowds, flags bearing the king's crest flew from most every hand, while gay decorations hung from rooftops and battlements. The scent of hot food, flowers, ciders and ales overpowered even the stench of livestock, manure and refuse. The clamour was so loud Elyan almost wished for his helmet.

As he guided his gelding through one of the many gates that sectioned the city, a blast of wind carried a sharper note through the cacophony and to his ears. Turning his horse sharply, he sent it trotting a few paces in the direction the noise had come from. He saw people spilling into the main street up ahead as if retreating before something, heard the din of raised voices.

"Gawaine!" he said sharply. Gawaine wheeled round.

"What is it?"

"Come with me. Something feels wrong."

They quitted the main road and began easing their horses through the smaller lanes that branched off it. Here in Midtown, the walkways were broader and paved with cobblestone, the houses of larger size and better quality, and yet once they left the main road they quickly found themselves on narrow and twisting paths, with pedestrians forced to the sides as their horses walked single file. It was not long before they found the source of the commotion.

A score of townsfolk had attacked a house, forcing its inhabitants out into the street. The assailants were mostly men, ranging in age from early youth to middle age, and by their shabby clothing they were menial workers wealthy enough to live in Midtown, but unable to command the income of higher guildsmen or traders. They wielded an array of weapons: staves, torches, farming implements. Two city guards stood almost between them and the objects of their rage, but positioned some way back, as if they had initially intervened and then reconsidered it. Elyan understood why when he saw who the victims were.

They were Beyn Avrami.

They numbered three, an older gentleman together with a youth and maid who looked to be his kin, for they shared the same cast of feature, handsome and intellectual, yet with a touch of the outlander about them. The old man must have been cast violently down into the street by the mob, for his attractive oriental garb was torn and befouled, his countenance battered, and his two kinfolk were now supporting him, one under each arm. The young man had a dagger strapped to his waist, but he had not drawn it, his face turned beseechingly to the crowd. His female companion's face was set in a fierce mask, eyes blazing.

The arrival of the knights interrupted the shouting and advancing of the mob, and the younger Avramite, looking relieved, took advantage of this break to raise his voice and resume his remonstrations to his assailants.

"Brothers and sisters, come to your senses! You know we have committed no crime! Let these companions of the Round Table bear witness to your actions! Leave us in peace, and we swear we shall seek no retribution for the wrongs done here today!"

"Brothers and sisters?" cried one from the crowd. "You dare name yourself our kin, unbelieving dog?" A rumble of fresh outrage reverberated through the malcontents, who began to drift forward again.

"In the name of the King, what is going on here?" shouted Elyan. The crowd halted once more. Gawaine, who was not always the most observant student of people, but who had been alerted by the 'unbelieving dog' slur, drew closer to Elyan and spoke in a low voice.

"Go carefully, Elyan. Discretion is the better part of valour."

"I've never known you to walk by when someone is in need, Gawaine."

"Aye, not in my own cloak, but we're wearing the king's red. His policy hasn't been popular of late; we ourselves are a provocation. I worry about the consequences for Arthur if the king's knights are seen to champion a people loved less than sorcerers are. Perhaps this is a matter for the guards."

"The guards are doing _nothing._"

A man with straw-coloured hair, solidly built and holding a quarterstaff, stood forth. "If it please you, Sir Knight, we are but enforcing the king's law. These Avramites are allowed to dwell in their quarter in the Lowtown, thanks to the tolerance of His Majesty and the Archbishop. But of late they have grown bold, perhaps due to the passage of the late King Uther, and they have dared to make their homes in other parts of the city. They seek to gainsay the Archbishop's edict."

"King Arthur granted us the right to make our home here!" cried the young Beyn Avrami, his comely face flushed. "He vowed to loosen our legal bonds and increase our freedom of movement in exchange for our services! We had a contract with the Crown. We showed you copies of the king's seal, but you destroyed them!" He sounded disgusted that someone would tamper with a legal document.

"A cunning forgery!" said the straw-headed man. "We know what deceits you people are capable of working! Did you think a piece of paper would protect you from us? And what services could _you _have rendered the king that you could ensnare him in your dishonest contracts and your evil wiles?"

"I'll tell you, _sirrah_," cried the female Avramite, her expression blank and voice awful. For a slightly built woman, she had a powerful voice."When Camelot burned in dragonfire, and your own merchants fled the city, who provided the coin to lay new stones, repair the gates, fund your hospices and import grain to sow your scorched fields? When an army of the dead marched on Camelot and your own guildsmen took flight, whose coin supplied fresh horses, bought steel for the forge, made bolts for your crossbows and found provisions for your knights? When Morgana and the king's traitorous uncle sacked this city, and other traders perished or fled, who rebuilt your marketplace, and replenished the king's coffers, and hired fresh bondsmen to work your fields and man your businesses?

"For all that you call us dishonest usurers, we toil at our craft as hard as any of you, and we have risked and bled much for this city. Aye, and we keep our oaths, and are bound by our word, and we honour the contracts we sign, which is more than can be said for the likes of you!"

"Devra, hold thy tongue!" said the young man beside her. "Pay her no heed, her anger outstrips her judgement."

The straw-headed man's countenance burned fiery red. "You think yourself so generous for returning coin which you plundered from the hands of honest Nazarins! That money was drained from your victims, as a blood-sucking tick drains a sheep, only the tick is not so brazen as to loan the blood back to its host at interest! Dare to speak to me like that again, infidel wench, and I'll teach thee courtesy at the butt of my staff!"

"Enough!" Elyan spurred his horse forward and Gawaine followed suit, the two of them placing themselves between the disputing parties. "This matter is easily resolved. If you have some doubt about their right to live here, any deeds and contracts are lodged at the courts. This dispute can be handled through consulting an officer of the law, not brawling on the street. As it happens, I can vouch for at least one of their claims. King Arthur did pass a number of reforms, including lessening the restrictions on where citizens may live."

"Of course he did," muttered Gawaine. "What a time for the king to find love in his heart for the less fortunate. Maybe you could shout it a little louder, the mob hasn't grown large enough." Despite his grumbling, Elyan knew that Gawaine would never back down from a fight, and one where he could thumb his nose at authority while being forced to take on unreasonable odds was as irresistible to him as poppy tea to an opium-eater.

"It's not just a matter of where they live," a woman spoke up. "Tell him about the sorcery! We've had nothing but strange goings-on since they moved in, and our children have disappeared! They take our babes for their rites, they're in league with the Old Ways!"

"What evidence have you that they practiced sorcery?" demanded Elyan. "This is a very serious accusation."

"Sir," said the straw-haired man, "Beca's little boy Cled disappeared not two months back, and just a week ago the same thing happened again. This time it was Reece's son. And three nights ago the Avramites painted the lintel of their door with blood. Look! They practice blood magic and necromancy in the open!"

"It's lamb's blood, you fool!" shouted the woman named Devra. "If we practiced the dark arts, why would we advertise it to all and sundry who passed our house? And if we could bend the forces of nature to our will and lay a curse upon our neighbours, why would we suffer to live amongst you?" Her brother tried to silence her again, to little avail.

"These charges make little sense," said Elyan. "These are dangerous times. Any number of things could have happened to your children. Do you really want a return to the days of Uther, when neighbour turned against neighbour, and the innocent burnt at the stake? Do you want to live in fear as brother accuses brother over a missing child, a lame horse, a spoilt crop, an evil glance?" Elyan felt nothing but disgust for these people, and for the first time since his elevation to knighthood, he truly felt apart from them, and the mean, ignorant lives they led. They truly had deserved Uther, a king as bitter and hate-filled as any of them.

Turning to the two guards, Elyan addressed them. "See to it that this crowd disperses! There will be no harrying of the innocent in Camelot while Arthur sits on the throne."

The guards did not look to be in a hurry to defend the Avramites. "But what of their tenancy?" asked one. "They have no papers. They claim they were destroyed."

"You will protect them until one of their neighbours brings a case against them and their tenancy is decided in a court of law."

The guards looked from the three lone Avramites to the large crowd of armed troublemakers who surrounded them, as if weighing up who to move on.

"There has been an accusation of sorcery… their neighbours are willing to bear witness. We will have to hold them until an investigation has been completed." As the guards stirred towards the three Avramites, Elyan dismounted and stood betwixt them and their quarry.

"That is enough," said Elyan. "This is no longer a matter for the city watch. I have made it a knightly concern. If you insist on taking them into the castle, I will personally escort them to guarantee the safety of their personages. Gawaine! This spectacle is over. End it."

Gawaine also dismounted, and drew his sword, brandishing it in long sweeps. "You heard the man. Move along, or I'll have to encourage you. Don't make me do that."

Frightened by the knight's display of power, the mob broke up and began to slink away.

"Say what you will about Uther, but in his time knights were nobly born, and knew their duty," said the straw-headed man softly. His eyes burned, but he turned and melted back into the streets with his companions. From high overhead, the peals of the great kirk bells rang out, toiling the terce.

"Three more hours before the ceremony," said Gawaine. "All we had to do was go hunting, unwind, keep our heads down." He kept watch with Elyan while the distraught Beyn Avrami gathered up their things, shuttered what they could of their damaged house, and put themselves in the custody of the guards.

* * *

**A/N: **This is kind of a crackfic. I loved the actors and characters in Merlin, so I wanted to play in this world, but I also wanted to include all my personal passions and cram them in together. The characterisation may be way off. Things may deviate from what you know or expect radically. I do want to add some Arthurian lore in there but it's all experimental at this stage. The timeline of this world doesn't quite make sense because Camelot is a kind of Norman French romantic vision, but also the Germanic and Celtic elements strongly exist in Britain at the same time, along with Norsemen, and maybe the Romans existed in living memory but maybe their empire was actually lost centuries ago? Anyway don't think too hard about it.

I haven't nailed the register yet. I started out writing the narrative voice in a formal, archaic tone, and was going to have the actual dialogue be more natural and modern like that on the show. But as you can see I switched back and forth a few times. Also not sure if this takes place at the end of Season 4 or Season 5 or in between.

No idea how quickly I'll update. I have a rough plan for this story, so I'm optimistic that it may be the first one I'll ever finish, but there probably will be several weeks between updates. Can't promise anything coherent, I'm just having fun, sorry. Also I like the spelling Gawaine better than Gwaine, deal with it.


	2. A Watcher in the Woods

Long ere the break of dawn, Merlin had risen, hurriedly dressed and stolen out of the castle. Though he knew the usual routes of the patrols, and many secret ways in and out of Camelot, his escape would have been difficult for even a skilled thief. An almost full moon hung in the sky, shedding its pale light over the citadel, and the guards on their redoubled patrols bore huge torches in their mailed fists, filling the air with oily yellow light. While few would admit it, each man's vigilance was born from fear that the spectre of Lady Morgana, or her conjured horrors, would reappear out of the night, for she haunted Camelot like a sprite from a children's fable.

Fortunately, Merlin was not reliant on his lightness of foot alone. As he walked, he drew on the elements of Fire and Air, holding them in tension about him. According to the natural philosophers, Fire was the element proper to the celestial spheres, to which it constantly sought to return, and hence flames streaming from torches and lamps always flowed upwards, pointing the way to their starry homes. Tonight any illumination born from the element of Fire, whether gliding down on moonbeams or thrown from flickering torches, would merely slip around Merlin, rather than glancing directly off him. In the same way he stilled the surrounding currents of Air, so that they did not betray the rustling of his clothing or the sound of his footfalls. He was not truly silent or invisible - he could still be detected by too close an examination - but so long as he was careful, and maintained focus on the spells, he could pass through even well-lit areas as if creeping through shadow. Manipulating the elements for any length of time was exhausting, but he had learnt to conserve his strength by merely nudging the substances that surrounded him, standing at their fulcrum.

Magic had always come naturally to Merlin, and it was stronger with him than with Gaius, who had studied it for decades, or even the sorceress Nimueh, who had been puissant in the ways of the Old Religion. He had commanded an ancient dragon, killed men with mere thoughts, called down lightning from the heavens, and restored life to those nigh unto death. Yet despite possessing all these abilities, he understood the underlying foundations of magic little more than when he had first arrived in Camelot.

No more was it possible for him to rely on the intuition of his childhood. His encounters with Morgause and Morgana had shown him how little he comprehended beside those priestesses of the Old Ways. Perhaps his raw power still waxed greater than Morgana's, but she had advanced so much under the tutelage of Morgause that, should she continue to gain knowledge at this pace, she could well overcome Merlin in direct combat when next they met.

Merlin did not intend to give her that opportunity.

The trouble was that, for the longest time, he had found no one to teach him. Uther might have been gone, yet Arthur was still no friend of magic, and nor was the Holy Church, who Arthur could not risk antagonising. For his own protection Gaius had destroyed all his books of spellcraft during the Great Purge, but for that one precious grimoire he had gifted to Merlin. Gaius himself had initially refused to teach magic to Merlin, or cast spells in front of him, and could only be induced to discuss the subject with extreme difficulty, in hushed tones. Of late, when Merlin had pressed Gaius to instruct him, arguing that the magical threats Arthur faced were so great that only a magician of equal power could safeguard him, Gaius had begun sharing in more earnest what he knew. Yet it was always in minute amounts, and this was followed by weeks of regretful silence, fear and paranoia over what would befall Merlin if his magic was discovered.

The great dragon had rendered Merlin no aid, either. The dragon had met with him in secret half a year ago, when Merlin had finally despaired of all the obstacles in his path, and ridden out into the forest surrounding Camelot to commune with the great beast.

"Where were you?" Merlin had shouted. "I have been calling you for three days, and I only heard your answer this morning before dawn."

The dragon had not been pleased to see Merlin. His mammoth voice had shaken the very ground beneath Merlin's feet.

"You summon me time and time again, young warlock, like a woodsman recalling a pet hound after a hunt. This time I perceive you are not even in mortal danger. I am not a dog to come running to heel whenever it pleases you."

"I am a Dragonlord," had said Merlin, sullenly. "I will call you when I please, and you _will _answer." Although part of him still thought Kilgharrah a friend and fellow magical creature, another remembered the dragon's callousness when it came to human life, and the sly fire that had smouldered in its eyes the night Merlin had released it. Camelot had burned for nigh on seven days and seven nights, and how many lives had been lost? _My fault. My weakness. I thought him a friend, as I did with Morgana._ _This is an ancient and alien beast, and but for my father's inheritance I would be his prey. I may yet be, should I fail to be useful to him._

"You are _not _a Dragonlord!" Kilgharrah had rumbled. "You have a Dragonlord's voice and a Dragonlord's blood, but you lack a Dragonlord's wisdom! Had you but a fraction of the understanding your father possessed, you would not use the Dragontongue to call me at whim, with the levity of a farmer's boy calling his old pack mule into the barn! Now ask of me what you will, and release me. I tire of you."

"I want you to teach me magic," Merlin had said.

"No," the dragon had replied. "I cannot teach you. You must seek a teacher of your own race, or of the same order of existence. You must learn the magic of men before you essay to learn that of dragons, for although you speak with our voice, your flesh and blood are those of a mere man, and your mortal frame cannot hold the fury of our songs."

"But you've taught me spells before!" Merlin had shouted.

"I did share certain knowledge with you, in a way that you could comprehend. For me to give you spells the human mind could accommodate was a greater feat than you imagine, Merlin. For although you could train a dog to perform certain tricks, you could not teach it to joust in a tournament or command an army. And though you could teach a songbird to mimic the language of men, you could not empower it to compose a ballad or speak philosophy in the marketplace. You must learn the spellcraft of your own kind before you aspire to the knowledge of the _Drach_. Elsewise my spells will burn you up from within, like the very Fire which is our lifeblood, and which your lungs cannot even swallow."

Merlin had threatened to _command _the dragon to teach him then, which had only increased its anger.

"You have more power than sense, Merlin! This is precisely the insolence I spoke of. In refusing to teach you, I am merely safeguarding your own life, for I still bear you some affection, despite all you and your kind have wrought. Your father trained to master the Dragontongue for many years before that power was entrusted to him, yet he never presumed as you do. A dragon fledgling would have centuries of experience before it dared approach me and seek my tutelage, yet you threaten to wring that knowledge out of me by force! Such knowledge would kill you, and then I and my kind would be free, for the last Dragonlord would die, but it would not go so well with Arthur. Not that Arthur has done aught to ease the plight of the Old Ways in Camelot.

"Understand, Merlin, that with dragons magic is not a subject of academic study. It is the very essence of our being. Teaching magic, then, is a sacred art, for the teacher imbues his pupil with his words, his breath, his very life-force. And your manling body cannot contain the life-force of a dragon. Were I to breathe any but the gentlest whisper of my magic into you, it would shatter you. You would perish, and Arthur soon after, and I would have no tears to shed for either of you. So if you care for Arthur or your kingdom, you will not ask this thing of me again."

They had parted with ill will between them, Merlin riding back to the castle and vowing not to call the dragon again except in extremity of peril.

That had left Merlin with the single spellbook Gaius had given him, and its limitations were many. For a start, it mainly represented one school of magic, its incantations compiled many ages ago in an ancient and mystical form of the Saxon tongue. Merlin had come to realise that while magic was universal, the forms it took must have varied as much as languages and customs did among the races of men.

The oldest surviving kind in Camelot was that of the ancient Wallish, who were the first recorded people to inhabit the land where the city stood. It were descendants of the Wallish who made up the bulk of the modern people of Camelot, including the druids and keepers of the Old Religion. Later, Albion had come under the control of the Italics, who had brought many wild magics from the far south, but these were faded except in a few places where their rites had marked the landscape, much like the roads and crumbling bridges their empire had left behind. There were magics brought by the warlike Saxons and their cousins the Danes and Vykings, all fierce peoples from beyond the frozen north. And finally, the Normans had come up from the warm south, their magic like a heady blend of all the others, except arrayed in Norman notions of chivalry, romance, glamour and elegance.

Among all these styles of sorcery, the one which concerned Merlin the most was that of the Wallish. While most Wallish had converted to the Nazarin faith, practitioners of magic had survived among them with unusual vigour. Not until Uther had sought to bring Camelot in line with the other kingdoms and the unrelenting doctrine of the Church, during the Great Purge, had acceptance of magic in Camelot been torn up root and stem. And still, in the small villages and impenetrable forests of Camelot, the Old Ways with their softness for sorcery flourished. The druids and high priestesses persisted into the current day, hiding in untold numbers, and they were potent enough to threaten Arthur, against whom they bore a legitimate grudge. It were these people who had trained Morgana, and until Merlin understood their power, he had no defense against them.

That understanding was not easy to come by, however. The agents of the Purge and the censors of the Church had destroyed almost all records of magical practice in Camelot, except those which they considered useful for the study of medicine, astronomy and philosophy, and even these were tightly controlled. Moreover, the druids and Bendrui seemed to have reckoned their arts so sacred that they could never be written down, preferring to transmit their knowledge in person, so there was almost nothing to suppress to begin with. Were Merlin to learn more about this art, he would have to find someone willing to teach him in person.

And, as if in accordance with the dictates of Fate, such a person had appeared to Merlin not three months ago, to deliver him from his despair.

Merlin drew close to his destination now. Here, on the outskirts of Camelot, stood the ruins of a dilapidated stone building, once a temple to some deity of the Old Faith (an archdemon, if the bishops were to be believed). Its walls had been but low, its foundations simple and solid, laid in the ancient Wallish-Italic style that Merlin had come to know as a sign of the Old Religion, in contrast to the enormous towers and lofty arches favoured by the builders of the Nazarin cathedrals. (Even the architecture betrayed the differing attitudes of the faiths: the structures of the Old Religion sat low and deeply rooted in the earth, while the Nazarin church-builders stretched their spires up as if to seek God in the Heavens, and shun the corruption of the material world). The bright moonlight washed everything silver as it flooded over tumbled walls, cracked grey flagstones, rotting wooden beams, and the tendrils of vegetation that entangled the fallen masonry as the wood reclaimed the land.

Merlin stopped short for a moment, sensitive to the melancholy sight of this once sacred place shrouded in moonbeams, its hymns fallen silent forever, its followers dead or driven away, its teachings lost to history. _Sic transit gloria mundi, _as the Archbishop often said, _so passes the glory of the world. _And how true that was, for practices which had endured for thousands of years had been wiped out in a few generations by Uther's zealotry. But if that were so, if the world could overturn in the blink of an eye, didn't that also mean the current order could be swept away as easily, if he and Arthur but knew where to push? Wouldn't the great castles of enemy lords and the grand cathedrals of the witch-burning Church come tumbling down just as swiftly as the houses of these forgotten pagans? And however impossible it seemed, he and Arthur could finally build what they were destined to build…

Even as he was comforted by this thought, another occurred to Merlin. As the rule of the Druids had been transient, as the rule of the witch-burners and enemy kings they hoped to overthrow was destined to fade, wouldn't Camelot, too, be overtaken in the end? Even should Arthur and he struggle to build the future the dragon had promised, even if Arthur sat on his rightful Overlord's throne, wouldn't Arthur's crown and sceptre be toppled and borne away in these currents of Time, which spared no man? For an instant Merlin glimpsed the world with a dragon's eye, the centuries blurring past, civilisations rising and falling across this hallowed landscape, the human lives within of no more worth than a butterfly's which beat its wings for a day, and in the end, richly garbed kings and priests lay under the ground, crumbling to dust alongside the meanest beggars… alongside even him and Arthur.

This terrible vision was mercifully interrupted by a stirring from the ruin. A figure in grey robes appeared from a vine-covered wall as if she had sprung from the stone and wood itself. She advanced before Merlin and took the knee.

"Well met, Master Emrys. Why do you tarry without? Come into the bower."

Merlin shook himself and allowed the druidess to lead him into the heart of the temple. From here, she passed her hands before certain gnarled trees and the growths parted before her, leaving a rough trail for them to follow, which led on yet a little further out of Camelot and into the surrounding forest. As they travelled, Merlin walked much faster in the Bendrui's wake than he ordinarily would, for roots, thorns and brambles seemed to twitch out of the druidess' way, curtains of vines drew apart for them, and the very ground seemed to be pulling them forward towards their destination. All around them the leaves rustled, the trees whispering as if longing to commune with the Bendrui.

When they reached a clearing a short distance from the city, the Bendrui turned and exchanged her servant's manner for that of an exacting tutor, as swiftly as a traveller changed cloaks. She began drilling Merlin in his mastery of the elements, demanding that he summon each one before her in turn. Merlin brought a gust of wind to rattle the boughs around them, held flames in the palm of his hand, lifted a stone and cast it back down to earth, and made rivulets of water seep from the soil.

"Fire and Air come more easily to you than Earth and Water," Finna observed after his efforts. "Fire and Air are the elements of the dragons, and perhaps because they consider you their kin, you are more closely aligned to their magics. But you _must _master Earth and Water as well, Emrys, for if you are not truly rooted in the Earth, you will be but half an enchanter in this land. And as for Water, it is a feminine element beloved by all the enchantresses who congregate on the blessed islands of this place, and whose minds are made up to oppose you and Arthur. You cannot stand against them unless you understand the power of Water."

Next, as if to strengthen that connection with the Earth she had just mentioned, she moved to a patch of potent wild herbs, which the druids had often planted and abandoned to grow in such clearings as these, both for their own benefit and those of passers-by. Finna began listing those herbs she wished Merlin to find. Merlin was aided in this task by the extensive knowledge of herbalism imparted to him by Gaius, just as he was aided in the study of elementalism by the readings in natural philosophy set for him by the aged physician. Even Gaius, however, would have been astonished by the Bendrui's knowledge of healing (or perhaps not, for he had learnt from them in his youth, though it had been a lifetime ago), and Finna had taught Merlin many new and ingenious uses of herbs, as well as many secret means to gather, prepare and preserve them, and finally charms and incantations by which to multiply their potency even further, so that Merlin felt he had grown as a physician tenfold in the three short months he had known her.

Only one other people were spoken of with as much reverence as the Druids in the field of medicine, and they were the Beyn Avrami, but the Beyn Avrami were hindered in the potency of their cures, for their people shunned the explicit use of magic as much as the Nazarins did (not that this prevented their mediciners from being regularly accused of witchcraft and burnt with the pagans). Even without the use of magic, however, Finna's technique was so puissant that Merlin believed she could almost bring a man back from the dead (a miracle which the Nazarin priests reserved for their own Risen God, with a sort of professional jealousy, and condemned in all others as a mark of blackest sorcery taught by archfiends from Hell).

Once he had swiftly identified these herbs and demonstrated the means of preparing them, Merlin was given the task of finding yet more and rarer herbs, which did not grow in this clearing. In order to do so, he had to use perhaps the Druid's greatest gift, the greenblood. Finna had at first balked at teaching Merlin this skill, for it was reserved for advanced initiates who had sworn lifelong fealty to the druidic ways, but lately she had begun to teach Merlin more and more of her secrets, despite his outsider status. She had done this with an air of wild desperation, with much internal conflict, and with an air of one knowing she has little time left to accomplish her task.

Approaching the most ancient tree in the clearing, Finna bowed low and canted some apology to the spirits that watched over this hoary oak. Taking a golden knife from her robes, she slashed open her palm, waited for the red blood to gather, and let the dark liquid fall on the gnarled roots. Having offered her own blood, she now took the tree's in exchange, making a deep incision in its trunk and catching the sap that gushed forth in a wooden bowl. Using a spell to heal both her own wound and the tree's, she turned her attention to the bowl, which had been filled with many herbs and charms besides, and began muttering spells and waving her hand in gestures over it. When she was finished, she offered the sap to Merlin to drink, and he swallowed it down.

The rite of the greenblood had been disorienting to Merlin when he had first undergone it, but he tolerated it better now. He understood that this was how the master druids had built their praeternatural connection to the trees, and the soil on which they lived. For the duration of the rite, the tree's sap was dissolved into Merlin's blood and flowed as one with his, and they shared some part of each other's consciousness. He could feel his awareness taking root in the earth, spreading out into the greenness all around him like questing creepers, forming deep networks under the soil.

Swiftly now, and with assurance, he led Finna from the clearing, raced along the green trails, and discovered whatever object she named. He led her to rare herbs, to waterfalls, to formations of stones. In this state he almost felt like the land was a second skin, and to discover the location of a ruined fort or a field of bluebells was like paying attention to his own body, feeling different textures of fine hair or clothing moving against his own flesh, and guessing what objects lay against it. It was as if he had awoken in the dark and were lying in bed wearing a new garment, and now he could divine the many different materials that made it up by touch alone. But what a skin this second skin was, alive and rustling with a hundred different kinds of trees, through which moved a thousand animals, sleeping, creeping, hooting, stalking, brushing against his awareness and making his nerves prickle.

Using the greenblood to seek out what was concealed was only the meanest of its uses. Finna had explained to him that the oak tree used for this rite had lived for many centuries, and had been born from a yet more ancient tree taken from one of the sacred groves. The tree's acorns had been sown far and wide through the forest by squirrels, so that its children were spread throughout Camelot's woods, each maintaining a connection to the parent tree. And the druids had often buried their dead at the feet of such trees, their belief being that as their blood and flesh fed the roots, the knowledge contained by the high priests would return to the tree's sap. So it was said that in the sap of such ancient trees flowed not only the forest's life-force, but the knowledge of Finna's predecessors, and that the greatest druids could use the greenblood to commune not just with the land, but with the memories of their ancestors.

Merlin was far from such mastery, however. Yet Finna pressed him to sink deeper and deeper into the stream of the greenblood each time he used it.

"Understand, Master, that the Druids have a strong connection with this land, and in the great war to come, many of them will side against you. You can only hope to prevail if your bond with the land is as great as theirs. For the land does not know of anointments and coronations; it is oblivious to what happens in the churches. If it is to recognise Arthur as king, you must teach it to do so. The witch Morgana spent much of her youth in Camelot, and she is skilled in the Old Ways. You may be sure that her bond with these woods, and the lakes, and the beasts of these forests, is strong. So long as she and her allies are stronger than you in the Old Ways they will have a foothold in Camelot, and she can come and go as she pleases, and nothing in your domain will be hidden from her. You cannot allow the trees and the animals to be on her side, for you cannot fight Nature. Your task will be as diplomatic and political as any Arthur undertakes. For you are to win lands for Arthur with magic; these wild places care nothing for the signing of treaties, nor do they recognise the laws of men, mere ink on scraps of parchment. They must be connected to the king through the medium of the Druids, who despise Arthur; but you shall stand in their place."

Dawn had long broken by the time the Bendrui had finished drilling Merlin. Most times he would have been frightened at the prospect of practicing sorcery well into the daylight hours, but when the greensap was in his blood, and the forest-attuned Finna was beside him, he did not fear anyone approaching them unawares, except for an enchanter of equal power.

"The dose of the greensap will wear off soon, Master, and you are exhausted. You must return now, and rest. We shall meet again soon." Finna went down on one knee again. "You must be on your guard, for Arthur has many enemies, and while only you can protect him from the magical kind, it may be his enemies of a far more human ilk that you cannot guard against."

Weary, but bolstered by the last of the greenblood in his veins, Merlin took his leave and made his way back to the Citadel as swiftly and secretly as he could manage. When he arrived in Gaius' chambers, the physician was rummaging through his stores. He stopped when he saw Merlin.

"Merlin!" he said exasperatedly. "Were you out all night again? What have you been doing?"

"Nothing. Just walking. Uh, I gathered some herbs for you." He held up a large satchel, brimming with his fragrant haul.

Gaius raised his eyebrow. "You've been very fastidious in gathering herbs of late, Merlin. I suppose there's no special reason you gather them at midnight when I'm still in bed? Never mind, I will have the truth from you later. You're very late, you know Arthur expects you at the ceremony! It will be very unfortunate if the king is humiliated by having his personal manservant be tardy again! Please don't put that boy through any more at the moment, Merlin, he's suffered indignities enough."

"_Arthur's _suffered indignities?" Merlin spluttered.

"Yes, he has. You know it's not been easy for him, making excuses for you. Now, I need to run. Elyan's told me he has a special case that requires my attention. I must make haste if I'm to see the patient and be on time for the king. Arthur's left some clothes for you, Merlin, I put them in the corner. Arthur said you couldn't be trusted to dress yourself. I believe his exact words were that you look like a starveling street urchin, rather than the manservant of a great lord."

Merlin glanced where Gaius pointed, and saw a fine blue tunic and pair of hose. "Really?" he said. "Arthur's happy for me to run about like a starveling when I'm waiting on him hand and foot. And now the whole assembly of lords will have their eyes on me, he wants to attire me properly?"

"Don't be ungrateful, Merlin. There's a sandwich for you under the cover. Make sure you wash!" Gaius, burdened by many bags and pouches, left his chambers.

Merlin threw the satchel on the table and sagged down into a chair. The last of the greenblood was ebbing away, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. To sleep for a hundred years, and dream the slow green dreams of the ancient trees.

"My destiny is to protect Arthur," he whispered to himself. "I will rest when he is safe."

Painfully, slowly, with joints creaking like the limbs of an oak tree, he pulled himself to his feet.

* * *

**A/N: **Araline Delia, thanks for the kind review! I like the spelling Gawaine better because that's how I used to read it as a child, even though it may be jarring for some readers.


	3. The Meek Shall Inherit, Part I

THIS mighty empire hath but feet of clay:  
Of all its ancient chivalry and might  
Our little island is forsaken quite:  
Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,  
And from its hills that voice hath passed away  
Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,  
Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit  
For this vile traffic-house, where day by day  
Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,  
And the rude people rage with ignorant cries  
Against an heritage of centuries.  
It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of Art  
And loftiest culture I would stand apart,  
Neither for God, nor for his enemies.

\- Oscar Wilde, _Theoretikos_

* * *

Merlin entered the basilica of St George feeling somewhat apprehensive. He'd just been informed that he'd been relieved of his servant's duties for the duration of the ceremony, and Arthur had made himself scarce all morning. Merlin had gone to the king's chambers and found no one but one of Arthur's pages, a youth called Niel, son of the Earl of Brecknock. Niel had smugly informed Merlin that Arthur had no need of him, before turning his back and returning to sorting through Arthur's vestments. Despite being scarcely twelve, Niel was already keenly aware of the superiority of his breeding, and like many of the noble youths who clustered about the king in hope of gaining favour through service, he resented the closeness Arthur shared with the baseborn Merlin.

So Merlin had made his way to the great cathedral himself, feeling curiously alone without Arthur to wait on. This must be the first public occasion in Camelot on which he would appear not as a servant, but as a free, albeit landless, person, with the privilege of royal association. He certainly looked the part in his azure satin tunic, cinched with a silken tie, and pleasingly soft woollen breeches. His usually ungainly limbs had been coaxed into respectable proportions by the art of some court tailor, and he almost hadn't recognised the fair youth in the looking-glass that morning. Someone had thoughtfully obtained Merlin's measurements for Arthur, perhaps Gaius or Guinevere, for the king was barely capable of dressing himself. Arthur could strike an apple off a tree at forty paces, but he could not have judged how many inches his own waistband was, such were men of his station.

The cathedral entrance, like the city itself, swarmed with more lords and ladies than Merlin had seen in many seasons. Not since Arthur's coronation had all the vassals of the Pendragons been summoned to the capital. These included the twelve Earls of Cambria, proud lords whose forefathers had been petty kings in their own right, before the Pendragons had subjugated them, putting them down with the same brutality they had later deployed against dragons and sorcerers. Each of these earls brought with him his own barons and sworn men-at-arms, and each of these his own householders with attendants and retinues befitting his station, so the whole city was awash with pomp and splendour. Even Merlin, who had some cynicism towards the nobility, having seen both their follies with the intimacy of a servant's eye and their brutalities from the vantage of a persecuted class, could only feel his heart lift at the sight of such a magnificent entourage.

Each noble house, great or minor, had its own device and colours adopted after the Norman fashion, and these splendid tints glittered not just from their shields and banners, but from the cloaks of their gallant knights, the surcoats of their elegant ladies, and the fine garments of their pages and attendants. When so many houses marched together, the diverse hues of their pageantry dazzled the eye more than any enchantment Merlin could work. They appeared like a flower garden filled with the rarest blossoms of every description, their petals so bewitching that one almost forgot they had iron thorns and blood watering their roots.

Merlin had seen these grim and battle-hardened earls once before, when they had come to swear fealty to Arthur, and he had marked their faces well then. They had not all looked friendly to the young king as they had bowed before him, taking his measure. What purpose did they have in all returning for the Easter festivities, which were, after all, to be in honour of mere commoners this season? Perhaps they wanted to avoid offending their king outright, rather than making some excuse to stay away. Merlin prayed that were true.

Though Merlin often had cause to correspond with scholar-monks and religious healers, the cathedral was not a place he was wont to frequent. He was twice damned by the Church for his nature, and once damned by original sin, and that was merely his scorecard at birth. Should God's accountants tally the numerous sins he had racked up since then, in thought, word and deed, it would no doubt make a full time occupation for the archangels, seraphim, cherubim and probably diverse other celestial choirs. Apart from the spectre of death or torture, all the priests could offer Merlin was confession and forgiveness, contingent on him performing a lifetime of penance. And if he were shut up in an abbey somewhere scrubbing hard floors on his knees and chanting the rosary, who would protect Arthur? Besides, if he were truly honest, he was no longer sorry for most of the sins he'd incurred simply by being born and acting in accordance with his nature.

Even with his irreligious bent, however, Merlin could admire the basilica as a work of art. In erecting this building as a token of their compact with the Church, Arthur's forefathers had spared no expense. This edifice was as much a testament to the worldly power and glory of Camelot as it was to the spiritual potency of the Archbishop. The grand exterior almost put the palace to shame, and its interior was more extravagant still. As Merlin passed into the antechamber he could see, even through the surging crowd, the long nave with its high vaulted ceilings, the arched windows casting stained-glass shadows on the rich red carpet, and the gilded articles spitting fire by the light of radiant candelabra. The air was heavy with the smell of incense, and the choir's ethereal voices were lifted in a song that bounced off the cunning acoustic planes of the space, lending their tone an even more translucent and otherworldly quality. This must have been how the Italics of old felt to enter the halls of their emperors, and Merlin wondered again how priests and kings so cruel were capable of producing such beauty. The resemblance was intentional, for through the Holy Palatine Church, Uther and his predecessors sought to evoke the memory of the fallen Empire of Pallantium, whose Caesars had been the most recent powers to unite all of Albion, and even the lands beyond. Uther had seen himself in part as a successor to that imperial project, and that legacy fell to Arthur now.

As Merlin inched his way through the swelling crowd, one of the many ushers approached him, demanding he show his invitation.

"I don't have one. I was told to attend by the king. I am his manservant, Merlin? Though I am here as a guest, today."

The usher gave Merlin a searching look. Many in Camelot had seen Merlin riding beside the king, but from a distance, and always in the plain garb that better fit his rank. Merlin could not blame the youth for having misgivings, for presently he looked much finer than he had a right to. The youth must have remarked Merlin at close quarters in the course of his religious duties, however, for after studying Merlin's face for a few more seconds, he flushed slightly and drew back.

"I do apologise, Master Merlin." _Master _Merlin. That was not an unpleasant form of address. "Pray allow me to conduct you."

Merlin was glad of the lad's assistance, for he wist not what to do with himself otherwise. His first instinct was to withdraw to the sides of the nave, where stood the most favoured servants, a small number who had been brought into this august company by their noble households, rather than being left outside. There was little serving to do here, though some held cloaks or coats, or scurried to do errands for their masters. Mostly they kept themselves still and pressed back into the walls, almost ashamed to be intruding on the concourse of the highborn. Merlin almost envied them, for he had always been comfortable on the outskirts, even in Ealdor, and years of serving in Camelot had taught him how to hover on the edge of a room, and be treated as little more than a piece of furniture. Today he was exposed, and while still beneath the notice of the great lords, as a freeman guest he would be regarded as theoretically human by them, rather than part of the upholstery.

The usher conducted Merlin past many freemen of little estate, and even some of the landed gentry, and deposited him right behind the minor nobles, at the very head of the body of commoners. Merlin's row looked to include gentlefolk of means, wealthy guildmasters, and other worthies. He had no right to be here, excepting, he supposed, his proximity to the king. In most parts of the hall there was severe crowding, but in this row there was a little space, and Merlin saw it was because the crowd was loath to approach three Beyn Avrami merchants, who stood huddled together, the men marked by their curious little caps, and the woman with a veil drawn over her face. Merlin started towards them, intending to take advantage of the space, then froze. Gaius' words about not embarrassing Arthur further before the nobility echoed in his ears. Since the day he had arrived in Camelot, he had exposed Arthur to both danger and ridicule by his unorthodox behaviour. He knew how the people of Camelot gossiped, and it bothered him not, but if it could cost Arthur the support of his vassals, he would have to refrain while the assembly of lords were in attendance.

As a sop to his conscience, Merlin positioned himself halfway between the Beyn Avrami and the other citizens, feeling deep shame. Here was a group of people also wronged by Camelot's law, a people he should feel nothing but sympathy for, and he was treating them like lepers for the sake of Arthur's image. He would never have done this before entering Arthur's service. Somewhere along the way, perhaps, he had lost his moral compass. He had dreamed that he would change Camelot, but instead Camelot had changed him. How many times had he turned a blind eye to injustice, allowed the guilty to walk free and the innocent to be punished, sacrificed his most precious beliefs to keep Arthur safe? He could not even blame Arthur for his own lack of scruples. It had been his choice to abandon any part of himself that would clash with Arthur's protection, and he had gone too far, lost too much to turn back now. He could not remember the person he had been or the dreams that had guided him before meeting Arthur. All that was left in him was the desire to keep Arthur safe, to fulfil the dragon's prophecy for them, and that would have to be enough. He was a shell of a man, a mere vessel, as the dragon had called him, for another man's destiny - or for the land of Albion, as the Bendrui said - or for magic itself.

He'd once thought Gaius a craven for his actions during the Great Purge, but Gaius had at least risked his life to spirit a few mages away to safety. Merlin would not even risk Arthur being slandered over his servant standing in the vicinity of a despised people. His conscience no longer bore any sort of reflection. Worried by these thoughts, he dealt with them as he always did these days, by pushing them away and looking for Arthur. He craned his neck, but he could not see the king yet.

Seeking a distraction, he fixed on the strains of song that were still drifting over the congregation. He recognised snatches of the Italic language, some knowledge of which he'd acquired from studying medical and philosophical texts with Gaius. _Inveni David servum meum, _the choir sang, _oleo sancto meo unxi eum. _It took Merlin a little time to piece the lines together, for the vocalists chanted in the old Italic fashion, stretching a single syllable out over many notes, tones rising and falling in complex patterns, as if the text were so holy they were unwilling to let a single phrase fall out of their mouths before milking it to its last drop. _I have found David, my servant. With my holy oil have I anointed him. _This must be one of the psalms, and what an appropriate choice. For the knights being honoured today had been commoners, and little better than the servant Merlin, before Arthur had knighted them, and today they would be further anointed as Arthur's vassals. The Archbishop was indeed a hard and unrelenting man, but Merlin could not fault his taste.

And here came the Archbishop now, striding down the aisle with Arthur and Geoffrey of Monmouth at his sides. The two Princely Powers, one of Heaven and one of Earth, were richly garbed and accompanied by finely accoutred attendants (Merlin felt a pinprick of jealousy as he saw one of Arthur's highborn squires at the king's shoulder). They swept down the length of the cathedral, with commoners and nobles alike turning and lowering their heads in reverence. Arthur came to rest at the dais which housed the altar, before which a throne had been set up. The Archbishop gestured for Arthur to speak.

Arthur stood forth before the crowd. He wore his ceremonial crown, but in place of robes or courtly tunic, a magnificent, scarlet knight's cloak blazed over his mail and plate, with his sword belt conspicuously visible. Arthur had always been a fighter first and politician second, and perhaps he was subtly reminding his vassals that the Pendragon throne had been won with the strength of the sword arm, and was not undefended. The prismatic light pouring through the tinted windows, and the steady glow slanting down from the chandeliers, wreathed Arthur in splendour. It gilded his dirty blond hair, turned his crown to fire, burnished the jewels about his person so that they spat fresh embers, and limned his armour in brightness. Merlin, who had grown accustomed to Arthur's appearance through familiarity, saw him now with undimmed eyes: as radiant and imperial as a young god. The effect was not lost on the crowd, whose collective breath seemed to be held, and whose every eye was turned towards the king. It did not matter that they knew Arthur had Pendragon blood: simply to look upon his countenance was to know one was in the presence of royalty. He appeared like unto a war-deity of his Cambric or Saxon forefathers, or a Nazarin archangel descended to raise an army of the faithful.

* * *

"How now," said Lord Broderick in a low voice, to the earls who stood nearest him. "Is this Uther's boy? He has not aged since last we bowed to him. How is it he exceeds four and twenty years, yet he remains fairer than my daughters? Has he attained to manhood and not managed to grow a beard?"

"Methinks he does grow whiskers," said Lord Meredith. "But perhaps his manservant tenderly removes them each morning before perfuming his master, and dressing him in silks, like a painted dancing boy. I have heard such unseemly things of this Merlin."

"As had I. Yet I did not like to believe such indecencies of Uther's son."

"This is no ordinary boy," swore Lord Gow. "It is whispered he was born through sorcery. God punished Uther for his venery by closing up the womb of his ill-gotten wife, Lady Ygraine. Uther turned to an enchantress to make the lady fruitful again. The son born of such an unnatural conception must have an unnatural nature. See how his maidenly beauty does not wither with age, as that of the Fair Folk. Small wonder he attracts serving boys with unnatural predilections."

* * *

Even from this distance, Merlin could read the contours of the king's face with the ease of one who had studied it almost every waking hour for years. Arthur looked as fair as ever, perhaps even more so, to those who did not know him. But Merlin marked the changes well: the easy smiles, mocking looks and playful swagger of Arthur's boyhood had been replaced by a kind of grave watchfulness. The cheeks were hollower, the lines harder, and the astonishing beauty of youth was maturing into plainer manhood. Arthur's brow was creased as if by the weight of the crown he bore, and at times Merlin could almost see beyond the stoic, kingly mask to the face of a frightened boy, alone and unsure of himself. Merlin wished he could ease Arthur's burden - God, he wished Arthur would share his troubles more than anything - but the distance between servant and king was even greater than that between servant and prince, and of late Arthur had been drawing himself further and further away.

The king spoke now. "People of Cambria! Lords and ladies, dignitaries, gentlefolk and sundry worthies. The king's honours have been a tradition of my fathers since time immemorial. The regent would summon his vassals to the capital to divide between them honours and rewards for exceptional service, going beyond even that owed to one's liege. Yet I have chosen to open this year's honours with something extraordinary. As my subjects have gone beyond their duty to me, I go beyond the king's customary honours to them. I do not merely reassign rewards to the already noble. I invoke the rite of ennoblement itself."

A murmur swept through the crowd, though they had already been forewarned of the day's undertakings. The king took his place on his throne, looking out benevolently at those in attendance, his expression impenetrable to Merlin.

Three more figures came down the aisle now, two knights hooded and cloaked in red wool garments from their night's fasting and prayer, and a damsel. They came to rest before the dais and waited, heads bowed.

The Archbishop flourished his crozier as he now moved before the aspirants to nobility, his energy undiminished by his over forty seasons. His Grace, the Most Reverend Raimund de Croismere, made an impressive figure in his rich purple cassock and gilded Archbishop's mitre. His handsome features and dark eyes exuded that power and charisma which had bent the ear of kings to his lips, and brought many dominions under his sway. Gaius had named him the youngest son of some minor Norman nobility, who had been sent into the clergy while his family's estate had been divided between his elder brothers. De Croismere's ambition and thirst for power had been such that not even deprivation of a household and children had hobbled him. In the Church he had found another, less direct, means to the corridors of power.

And yet, the Archbishop's speech was so courteous and his manner so genuine, that Merlin would have easily been taken in by his charms. Only because Merlin was close to Gaius, and had read historical records, did he know of De Croismere allying himself to Uther two decades earlier, and aiding the former king to legitimise his rule. The Archbishop and his militant faction of clergymen had crowned Uther, supporting him as the rightful claimant to the throne of Brython, and used the flag of the Holy Cross to paper over each atrocity, each massacre, each purge required to cement the power of the Church and the Pendragon line in Cambria.

And now the Archbishop spoke. "Men and women of Cambria! Today we gather to inscribe in the laws of Man that which God has already inscribed in the Book of Destiny. You, O mighty lords and gentle ladies, claim descent from ancient houses whose fathers ruled this land. Your blood is exalted, and this has made ye rightly proud. Yet it is not in the blood of princes alone that God has placed nobility. For even as His hand strengthens the mighty who walk in righteousness, He also loves the meek and uplifts the humble.

"Today, by the favour of His Majesty Arthur Pendragon, three worthies of common birth will be uplifted into the society of the noble. Some among ye may have qualms about the religiosity of such an act, for it is said that God has appointed the birth of each person in his class for a reason. And this is so. Yet, there is pretext for ennoblement in Holy Writ, for God sometimes uplifts those in His favour and casts down those who transgress against him. For was not Joseph a boy of humble birth, and sold in the slave-mart of Aegypt, before God lifted him up and made him master of Pharaoh's household? Was not Moses born a slave, and made a prince in that land? And was not David a mere shepherd boy, before the grace of God came upon him, and he was exalted to the throne of Judah?"

If the Beyn Avrami merchants, standing huddled beside Merlin, noted the irony of their ancestors' history being recounted by the man who authorised their people's persecution, they remained silent.

"And even now," the Archbishop continued, "some of the king's own sworn allies have sought to gainsay his wishes. Some have pleaded with me to oppose these appointments on religious grounds, averring that they would not break bread, as equals, with a landless knight or a blacksmith's son. Did the Children of Jacob hold lands when they came out of servitude in Aegypt? Only that which was provided for them by God's grace. And is it a shame to make a living with one's hands? The Living God Himself, the Son of the Almighty, was born as a carpenter's son. His birthing chamber, shared with swine and oxen, was more humble than that of many in Camelot, I think. Therefore there is no shame in being a craftsman, or earning one's bread with menial toil. For if it fitted the King of Kings to have such a pedigree, the same should not offend any mortal man here."

* * *

"So this is how the king means to win the love of the commons," said Lord Pryde. "By dangling before them the reward of nobility, peddling our titles like goods from a cheap market-stall. Our houses are ancient; our fathers fought beside kings of old for the honour to bear these colours. We still fight at Arthur's borders today, imperilling our limbs and those of our men, yet to what purpose? The king will hand out a barony to any serving girl who polishes dishes exceptionally well, and makes a duke of a blacksmith who casts a pretty horseshoe."

"Why must he placate the commons?" asked Lord Broderick. "If the merchants and craftsmen are restive enough to demand honours, they want a thrashing, not a reward. Arthur's softness has indulged his servants too long, and he sacrifices our bloodlines to repair his folly. While we fought the Norman and Saxon on Cambria's borders, we rather should have looked for the danger lying inward: with Uther's passing, his son has grown unsteady and pliable."

"That was a pretty speech the Archbishop gave, however," added Lord Gow. "Bold of him to say that our blood counts for naught, and that a slave is as fit to rule as any of us. If drudgery is spiritually uplifting, should we take up carpentry and set our wives to till the fields, then? Yet, I cannot but notice that the Archbishop's hands look uncallused. Perhaps he puts the spiritual welfare of others before his own. Rest assured, his support for Arthur will come with a price, and what will he demand? A king beholden to his peasants, priests and merchants, even before his earls have pleaded their interests, is a king obligated to many indeed."

* * *

Now the Archbishop gestured, and the first knight walked forward, drawing back his hood to reveal a mane of dark hair. As Gawaine approached the throne, Geoffrey of Monmouth came to his side and whispered something in his ear. Gawaine's face darkened for a moment, and he shook his head, upon which Geoffrey nodded and returned to his place on the other side of Arthur's seat. The knight drew his sword, went down on both knees, and placed his blade at Arthur's feet, before clasping his hands before him as in prayer. The king reached down and took both of Gawaine's hands between his own.

Gawaine said, "Sire, I, Gawaine, a landless and disinherited knight, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks. So help me God."

Arthur replied, "And we, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot and heir to the throne of Brython, swear to use thy service justly and graciously, and to protect thy privileges, and render unto thee that which a sovereign lord owes his honoured servant. So help us God."

Then Arthur released Gawaine, and the Archbishop caused some holy anointing oil to be applied in the shape of the cross to the knight's head, heart and hands. The king gave unto the baron a ring, symbolising his marriage to the people of his barony, as a lord to his bride, and the keeping of his vow of fidelity to his liege. Geoffrey of Monmouth brought forth a plain coronet with six pearls, which he handed over to the Archbishop, who placed it upon Gawaine's brow.

"To thee and thy descendants," said Arthur, "we grant the lands of Farrendre, with all titles and incomes thereof, to be held forevermore, so long as our line endures and ye keep faith with the Pendragon kings. May thy strong arm ever guard us, and thy good cheer, which rivals the merriment of the Italic god Bacchus, bring prosperity and comfort to your followers. Until thou seekest to reclaim an older name, which may yet bring thee glory, we name thee Strongmeade. Now arise, Baron Strongmeade, Lord Gawaine of Farrendre, sworn vassal to Arthur Pendragon."

Gawaine arose, and took up his sword, before bowing deeply to Arthur. Geoffrey of Monmouth, attended by two Kings of Arms from the College of Heralds, displayed the letter with the king's seal investing Gawaine with his lands. They then brought forth a miniature shield blazoned with Gawaine's arms, a mailed fist grasping a golden horn on an emerald field. Merlin thought it a fitting crest, for the horn could be used to hold grain or quaff mead, yet it also signified war, for it could be blown to call one's allies. And Gawaine was certainly not shy of either drinking or brawling with his friends. Indeed, with him, one use of the horn often led to the other.

Elyan and Guinevere were now called forward, and the ceremony of investiture was repeated for each of them, Elyan placing his sword before Arthur's feet while Gwen merely bowed her head. The king and his new vassals exchanged vows, and the lord and lady were anointed and crowned.

Arthur spoke. "Your father, though of common birth, was an uncommon man. We know for a fact that with Gaius' assistance, he forged the great chains that held a dragon prisoner beneath our keep for one score years. We are given to understand that a blacksmith of your blood, however ancient, forged this sword which we drew from a stone, and which cleaves asunder all enemies. As your forefathers, those master smiths, served ours, may ye likewise serve as Baron and Baroness, binding our foes and strengthening our sword arm. Unto ye and your descendants we grant the Barony of Wyldheim, with all incomes and titles pertaining thereof, to be held forevermore. And I name ye for the source of your strength. Arise, Lord and Lady Fairforge of Wyldheim."

Merlin felt his heart rise to see Gwen and Elyan receiving the recognition they deserved. He wondered how Gwen felt, however, at Arthur mentioning her father with honour. Tom had never had the charges against him formally dropped, despite his trial ending with his untimely death.

Geoffrey of Monmouth and the heralds now brought forth a shield blazoned with the arms of Elyan and Guinevere: a silver sword thrust into an anvil, encircled by chains, all on a field red as embers.

The ceremony of ennoblement now concluded, the three newly exalted persons were bade to turn and face the assembly of lords and the commons, and were announced by the heralds, to general acclaim. The clamour echoed riotously off the cathedral's vaults, and Merlin marked that it came enthusiastically from the commoners around him. It seemed to him, however, that from what little he could see of the faces of the nobles, their expressions appeared rather more fixed.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for their kind and encouraging reviews.

Updates will be significantly slower for a while (looking at several weeks, maybe a month or more between chapters). Unfortunately I have to start writing essays on top of work, etc. Chapters may come quicker if I get bursts of inspiration and work on this story instead of my essays (a distinct possibility).

This chapter ends very suddenly. It got a bit long for my liking, so I cut it off here and will do the rest of the scene as a separate chapter. I may do that from now on - the scenes I want to write quite long, and I have a long-winded style, but I can't keep the whole chapter in my mind beyond a certain length (too many words :/). Hopefully splitting individual scenes into multiple chapters will make it easier for me to write without making it seem too rushed at the end.

In this scene the nobles talk among themselves a lot, while the ceremony is going on. It became pretty wordy, to the point where it's unrealistic. But I must plead poetic license: think of them as actors on stage doing an aside to the audience. I think it's a nice technique if you can suspend your disbelief.

I hope you all stay safe and find ways to cope during this difficult time!


	4. The Meek Shall Inherit, Part II

"Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy. They were haughty and did detestable things before me. Therefore I did away with them as you have seen."

\- Ezekiel, 16

* * *

As the three new-made nobles stood before the crowd, and the clamour of their peers and the commons began to subside, some members of the highborn houses returned to expressing their contempt. The daughters of the earls, heretofore silent, were now stung into joining their fathers, perhaps because the uplifting of a servile member of their sex threatened them more than the recognition of a strong man's feats of arms.

* * *

"So it is true, then," said Lord Broderick. "There is something between Arthur and this serving girl. What other reason can he have for ennobling her? The knights, at least, can wield a sword in their king's defence. She has achieved nothing. This must be a precursor to her becoming a concubine. Or, God forfend, a wedded bride."

Lord Broderick's daughter, Lady Bronwyn, was more amused than vexed. "Could Arthur really mean to marry this servant?" she said. "Poor dear! How embarrassed the girl was to stand beside those knights! When her brother laid down his sword, I thought for certain she would at least lay down her thimble or scrubbing-brush next to him. If Lady Guinevere is to become Queen Scullery-Maid, what shall we get her for a wedding present? A golden darning-needle with a silken thread? Or shall I send to my craftsmen for a solid silver laundry vat?"

Bronwyn's confederate, Lady Egefride, tittered and drew her veil over the lower part of her face, affecting modesty. "Perhaps her betrothed will find a more fitting gift for her. Do you think the king will fashion her a personal coat of arms once they're married? Perhaps the golden dragon of Camelot, wearing an apron, rampant, over a freshly cleaned latrine? I cannot for my life fathom what he sees in the girl. If he considers her marriage-worthy, he has obviously not seen a true lady. I say, Bronywn, do you fancy warming the throne of Camelot? Either of us has as much chance of winning Arthur's affections as that unsightly creature."

"Guard your tongues," said Lord Broderick, overhearing their conversation. "We had no cause to bring the jesters with you two in attendance. A lady should not abandon her modesty, even in jest, and to speak covetously of another man's throne is vulgar. Besides, we have already said that Arthur's tastes are unknown to us. He may be as effete as his servant. Some question his parentage, and his appearance is uncanny."

"Father, you do not understand women's hearts," said Lady Bronwyn. "Those points which you list to demean Arthur simply make him more appealing. For what woman can resist the challenge of a man who seems to shun womankind? Would turning a sworn bachelor's head not make a fine victory? And is indifference to other women not a virtue in a husband? Further, you say that the king is too beautiful to be a proper match - do you hear yourself?

"And you can hardly blame Arthur for whatever indiscretions he is supposed to have practiced with his manservant. That is your own fault, for you noblemen of Camelot have kept your gentle daughters locked away in your castles, and not brought them to court. In this sad palace, the only womenfolk the king has seen are grimy washerwomen, bloated fishwives, and hefty peasant girls. One can hardly expect a man to be inflamed with desire for the female sex when surrounded by such grotesque examples of it. No wonder his eyes fell on this plain serving girl. Even brass shines next to tin, though neither match gold. And that spindly manservant Merlin is a prettier sight than this blacksmith's daughter, so who can blame a man for preferring his own kind, when the alternatives are so dire?"

* * *

Gawaine, Elyan and Guinevere now withdrew, and the Archbishop returned to the centre of the dais. He had not finished preaching his homily, it seemed.

"How gracious is His Majesty," said the Archbishop, "to recognise true nobility in all its forms. But let us remember that God has charged each of us with a duty according to our station, and it is our task to uphold that duty. Even as God raises up the humble, He also casts down the proud who fail to keep His laws. Even as the servants have a duty to their sovereign, the sovereign also has a duty to his servants."

* * *

"And there it is," said Lord Pryde. "The sting in the tail. The Archbishop is telling Arthur that if God can make a slave into a prince, he can make a prince into a slave. The priest might as well say that Arthur rules by the Church's consent alone. The price for clerical support is that the king abides by the will of the Church, on pain of dethronement."

"Not just the king," muttered Lord Meredith. "This is a warning to us all. He has said that our blood remains noble only to the extent we obey God's will. A will that the Archbishop alone can interpret. Does he mean to excommunicate us all and replace us with carpenters? There are not so many woodworkers in this town, surely."

"He can try," said Lord Gow. "The Norman, Saxon and Vyking hordes have striven to take my house's birthright for centuries, with sword and fire. If they have not succeeded, I do not fear this one befrocked priest."

"Peace, Lord Gow," said Lord Broderick. "The agents of Holy Church are everywhere, and the fires of the Inquisition burn in many parts of this land, hotter than the torches of Saxon and Vyking both. That shepherd's staff in the Archbishop's hand has killed more men than the longswords of threescore Norse warriors. It would not be politic to openly defy him. Now the question is, can Arthur use the Church without becoming its thrall? For as we used to say of those allied with Uther, he who seeks to ride the dragon must beware its flames. And the flames of the Church, like Grecian fire, may burn up both foe and ally. Uther's anger was like that also."

* * *

"What duty does a king owe his realm?" continued the Archbishop. "To rule wisely and justly, and to protect his people from wickedness. To look to the future. Though young, our king has many enemies. It is his people's hope that he shall soon wed and provide them with an heir. For it is not good for Man to be alone, and God has created Woman as his helpmeet. And a king's life is never truly his own: it belongs to his realm and to his people.

"Marriage is a bulwark against the darker currents of our Nature. Men of the cloth are called to walk in celibacy, for we take no wives, and wed ourselves in spiritual marriage to God alone. Yet for kings of this world, who must pass on their bloodlines, it is marriage of the flesh that God has appointed for them. So let a king's marriage be with a woman of purity and simplicity, who will keep her husband on the path of righteousness. Let Man go unto Woman, and cleave unto her, as God has created us.

"Youthful desire, allowed to bloom outside the bounds of marriage, becomes carnal lust, and degrades us to the level of beasts. Within the sanctified bond of marriage, even lust can be directed to a higher purpose: the procreation of life. So a haply married king, with good wife and well-begotten children, will secure the future of his realm, and guard his person from whispers of indecorum, which may otherwise eat away at his kingdom."

Merlin felt his cheeks burn. He was sure the Archbishop was looking at him directly, for he was the cause of whispers of indecorum that surrounded Arthur. Was this the price the Archbishop had asked in exchange for his support? That Arthur should wed and produce an heir, removing any unseemly connotations from his association with Merlin? Was this why the Archbishop had agreed to ennoble Gwen, though she could not be a knight: on the understanding that Arthur would marry her? Many emotions surged within Merlin, for he knew that Arthur must marry eventually, and he would rather it be to a soul as kind and virtuous as Gwen, than to a scheming and palace-bred princess. Yet Gwen also posed a difficulty, for which of the nobles would suffer bending their knee to a woman who had once worked in the kitchens?

For Arthur, the best course of action would be to cast aside both Gwen and Merlin, and marry an heir to a powerful family. That the king had not done so already was a testament to his stubbornness. Yet Arthur the stubborn boy, locked in rebellion with the ghost of his father, had been considerably weighed down by Uther's crown, which had held within it all of Uther's responsibilities. With the Archbishop exerting his influence, and the assembly of nobles putting pressure on him, how long would Arthur struggle to keep his servants close to him? And why should he endanger his life and his crown to do so?

_I will leave if Arthur needs me to, _thought Merlin. _He won't ask me outright. He might just give me a position where we see less of each other. But I couldn't bear that. _

Merlin already couldn't stand those noble youths swarming around Arthur, training with him, laughing with him. There were boys half Merlin's age who had more privileges with Arthur than Merlin ever did. Even the menial tasks the pages and squires condescended to do allowed them to get closer to the king. Arthur and Merlin belonged to different worlds, but Arthur had shared his life more closely with Merlin than with anyone else for a time, and if Merlin were forced out of that, there would be nothing in Camelot for him.

The thought of leaving Arthur made him heart-sick, but Merlin had felt that way to one degree or another since arriving in Camelot. The frustration of denied wishes was a dull ache now, something that had become part of him. He had already sacrificed much for Arthur, and he would still give away anything more, even the small comfort of being in Arthur's company. If he knew Arthur would be safe, perhaps if he learnt to scry or sense with the greenblood, so he could watch over Arthur without being near him…

He wondered how his mother was. She must be missing her only child. Ealdor was pretty in the spring, with a rough, wild kind of beauty, so unlike the manicured gardens and expensive orchards of Camelot. Merlin had liked the unvarnished greenness of the woodland as much as he had disliked the uncouth ways of Ealdor's people. But he was no child now. He knew how to keep his magic under control, how to conform to others' expectations. The villagers would be surprised that the queer, wild boy with flyaway hair and stick-thin limbs had returned to them a tall and serious young man. He could put his lanky frame to use, ploughing the fields, reaping wheat, threshing grain, hauling loads. His old mother wouldn't have to work so hard, all alone in that big stone house, once the boundaries of Merlin's entire world.

The stars would be brighter at night, away from the lights of the city. They would lie in a field and watch them, his mother telling him stories as she'd done in his childhood, about Draco, the dragon, Ursa Major, the great bear, and Orion, the hunter. This time Merlin would teach _her _the names of constellations, and the heavenly phenomena that he had learnt from Gaius. They would go on walks in the woods, looking for brambles of blackberries, which his mother would gather to make into jam and bake into pies. There were wild apple trees in the gulleys, whose wrinkled, sour apples tasted finer (if Merlin's memory served him) than all the scraps of pheasant, venison and rich Norman wine he'd scavenged from Arthur's table.

Whenever Arthur needed him, he could return to Camelot, under an ageing spell, so no one would know of his return. Arthur's destiny would be fulfilled, without him being burdened by an unloved servant. Seasons would change in Ealdor, the trees casting off their leaves and redressing themselves. The birds would go away and come back again with new songs. Merlin and Hunith would grow older and greyer each time, but there would always be a fire in their hearth and new flowers on their apple trees. In the mornings Merlin's mother would hang her washing out in the yard, singing the songs of a young woman who had once loved a dragonlord, and who was now a grey widow fading into obscurity, content with her little life. Merlin would join her, perhaps, for they had both loved lords and flirted with magic, after a fashion, and both had nothing to show for it. In the evenings, when the day's work was done, Merlin would pull two cups of ale from the barrels under their house, and they would sit by the roaring fireplace together. It would not be a bad end to two unfulfilled lives, thwarted by circumstance.

But even as part of him prepared to accept this eventuality, something deep within Merlin cried out in defiance, and refused to let Arthur go.

* * *

"Think not," said His Grace, "that God turns a blind eye to our personal choices. Think not that there is a separation between our public lives, and the intimate affairs of our hearts, in which we can act as we choose. For even the ordinary man's actions are judged according to the Law, whether they are done on the battlefield or in the bedchamber. And that is more true still for princes, whose lives belong to the state.

"Remember that King David was a passing righteous king, yet he burned with lust for a woman, and loved outside the bounds of the Law. Then, although God loved him sorely, David was cast down, his kingdom ruined, and his people, once the blessed Children of the Covenant, were scattered to the four corners of the world, and became that despised race called the Beyn Avrami. David's predecessor, Saul, consorted with the Witch of Endor, though he knew magic was a sin in God's eyes, and that cost him his kingdom, too. How many Caesars of Pallantium and old Greece, arrogant in their power, practiced unnatural forms of love? And where are their empires now? Overturned by God's avenging hand.

"Before the Church came to this land, Brython was ruled by pagan kings, some of them just, some of them not so. Yet everywhere the people were enslaved by powerful sorcerers, and their magical thralls, the dragons. And without the guidance of the Faith, the people burnt with lust for one another, giving up what was natural, and men embraced men, and women lay with women, giving up God's design for the human form. And so God condemned these pagan citadels to be destroyed, as he destroyed his daughters Sodom and Gomorrah. And Uther and the line of Pendragons were chosen to be the instrument of this destruction.

"Do not forget that King Uther was slain by sorcery. His enemies are among us, and will continue to fester, unless Arthur takes up the mantle of his father, and his ancestor Constantine, who saw the Holy Cross in the sunlight, and brings peace by his sword. So let us drive all weakness from our hearts, and remain vigilant against his foes. Do not tolerate immorality in your neighbours. Harden your hearts against sorcerers, heretics and deviants. Let the kingdom be purified in the fires of tribulation and the light of faith. And right long and justly may the king rule over us. Long live the King!"

Merlin had never joined in a salute to Arthur's rule so unenthusiastically. The Archbishop, perhaps satisfied with the damage he'd done, at last withdrew to the side of the dais. Merlin was relieved. Finally the function would be over, and he could escape from this horrible crowd, back into his comfortable servant's guise, and not have to listen to the Archbishop incite hatred against sorcerers, unbelievers and deviants, while also goading Arthur to bed a woman practically on the spot.

Geoffrey of Monmouth now came forth. "While the rite of ennoblement is now concluded, there is one further announcement the king wishes to make. While it is somewhat irregular for this civilian post to be filled at such a grand ceremony, the king wished it so. So let it be known that the king wishes to revive the office of his personal herald, and have it named to one who has served him faithfully. Now come forth, Merlin of Ealdor."

Merlin froze. The crowd went deathly silent. Minutes seemed to pass.

"Come forth, Merlin!" Geoffrey repeated, somewhat more vigorously.

Eyes wide, feet dragging, Merlin made his way down the aisle, with every face turned towards him. As he passed through the ranks of the nobility, he almost felt himself wither under the heat of their hostile and curious stares.

"The herald may seem a menial post," said Geoffrey of Monmouth, as Merlin drew closer. "At their lowest ranks, the pursuivants are little more than messenger boys, or butlers, announcing their lords' entrances and holding their arms. And when they have ascended to the echelons of the College of Heralds with due age and experience, they seem little more than historians, scholars and keepers of genealogy. Yet the herald's role is vital, for without his record-keeping there would be no nobility.

"And the herald comes from yet older and more distinguished stock. In Cambric tradition he was called the war-bard. The Norsemen and Saxons knew him as the _skald_. He sang the sagas of heroes, and invoked the king's powers in combat by reciting the names of his ancestors. In Gaul, the herald is called the minstrel or troubadour. In his songs reside the whole history of the court, the honour of the code of chivalry, and the prowess of the knights in love and war.

"A royal herald is a diplomat who speaks with his king's voice, entreats with his allies, sounds the war-horn against his enemies, and immortalises his kingdom. Now, it is rare for one born in a small village and trained as a physician to be given such a role. Yet I know the calibre of Gaius' teaching, and any apprentice of his undoubtedly has such scholarship and facility with language as to rise to such an appointment."

The cathedral was very silent as Merlin walked the last few steps. All he could hear was the voices of the choir, muffled, in the background.

_I have found David, my servant. With my holy oil have I anointed him._

Two heralds fastened a short cloak around Merlin's shoulders, and clipped a music-belt on to him. He did not have the gallant cloak or mail of the knights, but he was now wearing the gold dragon on scarlet, like one of Arthur's sworn men-at-arms. It was the first time he would share the colours of the noble Companions of the Round Table, and Arthur himself, since he had arrived in Camelot.

_Mine arm also shall strengthen him. The enemy shall not exact upon him; nor the son of wickedness afflict him._

"Come here, Merlin," said Arthur from the throne.

Geoffrey turned. "Sire, this is not necessary -,"

"I did not address you. Merlin, come here."

The Archbishop's countenance was stony as Geoffrey backed out of the way.

_And I will beat down his foes before his face, and plague them that hate him._

Merlin closed the distance to Arthur as if in a daze. Every hair on his body prickled, and the world swam around him. He felt as though the church was made of spun-glass and blazing light, splintering into rainbows and heat all about him. Though he was not to be anointed as a noble, and had no need to do homage, he sank to his knees, not knowing what else to do.

"Clasp your hands before you," Arthur commanded. And then, in a more mocking voice, like that of the boy he'd once been: "I told you I'd teach you to walk on your knees. It only took you five years. That's swift for you, Merlin." Arthur reached down and took Merlin's clasped hands in his.

_But my faithfulness and my mercy shall be with him: and in my name shall his horn be exalted._

"Sire, what are you doing?" Merlin whispered. "Am I to swear fealty when I have no estate, and cannot fight?"

"I don't need to purchase your loyalty with lands or titles, Merlin," said Arthur. "And I will not ask your tongue to proclaim fealty when your life and limb have already proven it. You have fought for me more bravely than full many a knight, even when you had little cause to do so."

* * *

"What… is happening?" said Lord Gow slowly. "Why is Arthur holding that manservant's hands? He has not even been made a nobleman. Is this routine for domestics? Is the king merely flaunting his over-familiar servant before us? Does he intend to embrace the boy here, in full view of the Archbishop?"

* * *

Arthur reached into the folds of his cloak and brought out a brooch engraved with a dove. "I do not have a baron's ring to give you, Merlin, for you aren't a knight or lord. But you heard what Geoffrey said. Heralds are the keepers of the nobility, the custodians of our bloodlines. So I give you this sigil of my mother, to hold alongside my father's dragon, which you now wear on your cloak. The dragon is a warlike beast, but the dove a sign of peace… Perhaps if my mother had been in my life, I could have learnt more from her influence. May you see to it that I live up to both sides of my blood, and to true nobility, in every sense of the word. For though very different, my father and mother found a means to become two sides of the same coin… something you and I know about, perhaps."

Deeply moved, Merlin fought to stop tears pricking his eyes. "Sire, I can't accept this. It should go to your wife -"

"Peace, Merlin," said Arthur shortly. "My wife will share my bloodline, my throne and my bed. She cannot begrudge you having a trinket. I only wish I could give you more after… after all you have done."

Arthur stood, and pulled Merlin to his feet along with him.

"Let the ceremony be concluded!" he said rather more loudly. He began sweeping down the aisle, tugging Merlin along with him. "And hurry up, Merlin, I want a word with you in private."

Arthur suddenly dropped Merlin's hand and, preserving as much kingly dignity as he could, broke into a half trot. Merlin, electrified, scurried with rather less dignity until he came shoulder to shoulder with Arthur. They were now almost as they had been when they'd used to run beside one another in youth, with Arthur trying to barge him or pin him down in the woods. As the racket of scandalised attendants and squires broke out from the dais, Arthur and Merlin hastened yet further, almost racing to the doors of the cathedral before they were caught up with. Merlin's heart felt lighter than it had in months, though he dared not look at anyone's faces as they left the building and plunged out into the light.

* * *

**A/N:**

Things I discovered: 1) this scene was much more fun to focus on than essays on Bayesian Confirmation Theory

2) I can write dialogue pretty quickly. If I set this whole story in a drawing-room and told it from the viewpoint of a sassy noblewoman, it would be smashed out in days. Unfortunately it needs some action and description to be well-rounded, and that is painfully slow for me to grind out. This chapter is pretty damn dialogue-heavy, but at least it came out quicker!


	5. The Fool

"By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not."

\- Song of Solomon, 4

* * *

Arthur still slept in his old bedroom after the passing of his father, for he had not wed, and there were no other living members of the royal family. Merlin had a fondness for these chambers, for here began the first chapter of his life in Camelot, suffering under the demands of a boorish prince. Despite hours of scrubbing and serving and dodging various objects in this room, it had come to feel more like home than his own quarters.

The king dumped his crown unceremoniously on the table and shrugged his cloak off onto the floor.

"Merlin, help me out of this armour."

Merlin started forward, then stopped. "Is undressing you part of the royal herald's duties, sire?"

"No, and neither is answering back. I'm sure you'll still be doing plenty of both. Get over here."

Merlin did as he was told. "Surprised one of your pages isn't doing this for you," he said, as he wrestled off Arthur's chausses.

"Niel tries, but he's not really cut out for this sort of thing." Arthur leaned against the table with one arm to balance himself as Merlin pulled the mail hose from his legs. "Being a page is meant to teach the importance of service to one's lord. But most nobles are terrible at dressing themselves, much less others."

"I'd noticed," said Merlin, as he began unlacing Arthur's gauntlets.

"I wouldn't talk, Merlin. Your dress sense begins and ends with the physical act of enrobing. Thank the gods you wore what I picked for you today. I couldn't stand the embarrassment of seeing you shuffling around in that peasant's tunic."

"Don't worry, the lords will be gone soon enough. Then you can have me back in my rags."

"Good. Those clothes are coming out of your new wages, by the way."

Once Arthur's hauberk was off, he went to the bed and threw himself down in his undertunic, leaving Merlin to begin arranging the pieces of armour in his cupboard.

"Those are meant to go down to the armoury." Arthur's voice was faint as he sprawled out, head turned towards the window.

"Then have Niel send them down later. He's going to be a knight. He needs practice, learning the importance of serving his lord."

"You could use some practice yourself."

"I've had more than four years. I think I've done my time."

"You wouldn't know it to look at you. I think you're more insolent now than when you started. You don't like Niel, do you?"

"_He_ doesn't like _me_. None of your squires do. Because you don't treat me badly enough. And I'm used to people seeing me that way, but it's galling when a twelve year old boy takes over your duties and treats you like a dog."

"I'll have a word with him if it bothers you."

"No. That'd make it worse. I'm a big lad, I can handle being disrespected by a child. It's not the worst thing I've endured in this castle."

"Niel _is _a little arrogant because his father's so important. Can't say I'm overly fond of the boy. But keeping him around is useful, to retain his father's favour. In my grandfather's time, the king took the sons of his vassals by force, and brought them up in Camelot as pages and squires. The barons were so powerful then, having their sons raised as hostages in the capital provided surety against their rebellion. The boys grew up among the Pendragons, and thought of us as family, and were made honoured knights to fight for our court. Even as their fathers obeyed us out of fear, the sons obeyed us out of love, and they could be sent back to inherit their fathers' lands when they had proven their loyalty through years of service. By my father's time, the earls sent their sons to us freely, for it was an honour to be raised at court."

Something struck Merlin powerfully in what Arthur had just said. He wasn't a knight, but in a roundabout way, wasn't that system of winning hearts through raising hostages exactly what had been done to him? His father had been an enemy of Uther. His mother had sent him from Ealdor into Camelot, right into the court of his father's persecutor. He had been raised by Gaius, Uther's ally, and made a servant to Arthur, performing the intimate service of a page. He had become part of the king's household, and been won over by affection for Arthur. He had defended the tyrannical Uther from sorcerers, dragons, Morgana - his own people. He had even convinced his father to put aside his enmity for Camelot and attempt to save the city, costing Balinor his life. Hadn't Merlin also, then, been the son of an enemy, converted into a friend by the machinery of Camelot? By Arthur's seductive charisma? By his own isolation? How good Camelot was at breaking the resistance of her foes, so that they even forgot the cause for their grievances.

Was that what had happened to Morgana? Were her parents enemies of Uther, before she was taken on as Uther's "ward"? Had she discovered something about her past, which had driven her to break so violently away? Merlin had remained faithful, even to the prince and the city that had bound him in service. Was the difference between Merlin and Morgana his weakness, or hers? The thought made him uneasy, and he discarded it.

"And do you think Lord Broderick still considers it an honour?" he said aloud. "I do not know if the barons are friendly to you."

Arthur rolled over to the other side of the bed, got down and and went to the window. He gazed out at his dominion for a little while. "And what do you know about politics, Merlin?"

"More than you think. People talk freely in front of servants. They don't consider us to have thoughts of our own, any more than they would fear speaking in front of a chest of drawers. And I have survived a few wars and councils with you, sire. And some people would say that studying with Gaius for four years has given me as broad an education in history and statecraft as any noble - if not broader. And besides, policy is not just reading the intentions of kings. It is understanding the consequences of their actions. Every peasant in this country feels the repercussions when a Pendragon so much as sneezes. The people know the moods of the lords who rule over them, because to not understand them is to be in danger -, "

Arthur spun around and walked a few paces towards Merlin. "Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. Why are you babbling? You don't have to justify yourself to me."

"I do, sire. I know I'm just a servant - well, a herald - and I'm not entitled to have opinions -,"

"I have never said that."

"You have. Forgive me, sire, but you _have. _You ask my advice when everyone else has abandoned you, and you have no recourse but me. And then, when you are restored to safety, you deride my opinion, except you say it in half-jest, so you can deny undermining me when you need me again. That is your right as king, sire, but you are a king! At least speak what you mean plainly. You don't have to cloak it in jest to make it palatable. That is the reserve of fools like me."

Arthur came closer to Merlin, his face radiating that jumble of emotions he always wore when Merlin spoke back to him - hurt, offence, indignation, incredulity - as if no reasonable person could understand what Arthur had done wrong. "I just appointed you my herald, Merlin! And I gave you something extremely valuable to me! Anyone else would be grateful. Do you know what it cost me to show my confidence in you? People have been saying -," He broke off suddenly.

"Why don't you finish?" Merlin said. "It's nothing I haven't heard before. Do you think it'll embarrass me? Think I'm not political enough to understand the Archbishop's speech?"

Arthur turned away. "It doesn't matter what people have been saying. Yes, I haven't always valued your opinion as much as I should have. I was raised in a world where people like you were objects. Maybe I'm just too much like my father to shake off old ways of thinking. King Uther treated his favourite hounds better than men without titles. So I'm sorry for my shortcomings, Merlin, but I'd hoped that naming you my herald would show you how much I value you, how much I'm trying to change." Arthur went back to the bed and sat down again, suddenly moving like a weary old man instead of a restless boy.

"I'm sorry, too. You did me a great honour, and I am grateful. It's just… I'm on edge with the lords here, and the Archbishop saying we should burn anyone who's different from us."

"He didn't mention burning -,"

"I read between the lines. It's something we political types do." Merlin picked up Arthur's scarlet cloak, bundled it up and threw it into the hamper.

"I'd hardly worn that."

"You'd worn it hunting. More than once, if I'm not mistaken. I know… what you're like." _What you smell like._

Arthur huffed.

"So what do you intend to do about the earls?" Merlin pressed, glancing over Arthur's armour one last time before shutting the cupboard.

"Can you stop badgering me about them? God, I'll have to see them all after this. They'll want an explanation for that stunt we pulled in the church. It'll be non-stop councils and banquets and hunts with them until this week is out. Talk about something else, Merlin."

"All right, then." Merlin gave Arthur's room a once over, noting with some pleasure that Niel was as bad at organising things as he was at respecting his inferiors. This was what Merlin had been reduced to, feeling smug over the failures of a child. He began tidying the dining table, noting with a pang that this might be his last opportunity to do so. How absurd to miss this. "Speaking of men without titles… I noticed you ennobled all of your closest friends and servants today, sire. If your plan was to make me feel valued, you might have included me in that."

Arthur gave Merlin an alarmed look. "Really, Merlin? I never thought you cared about that sort of thing. Have you any idea how difficult it was to get the Archbishop to agree to it at all? For a start, it cost me two hundred hides of good land, which could have been feeding my peasants or maintaining knights. And now it'll hold an abbey full of fat monks, swilling my best wine and taking the best game from my forests, while chanting hymns to the Blessed Virgin. Great help she'll be if the Normans or Saxons break through our borders.

"And the amount of coin I donated! As if our treasury weren't depleted enough! It'll all go on solid gold candlesticks and sapphire-set crowns for statues of the Holy Infant. What does a carpenter's baby born in a barn want with a crown, anyway? For all the Church preaches against the Beyn Avrami and their sin of usury, at least the money-lenders sell real merchandise. The Church has made the soul into a commodity, charging for indulgences and the defaulting of sins. Can she condemn material usury, while engaged in spiritual extortion, selling insurance in Paradise, borrowing against God's grace, and lending credit for the Hereafter?"

"Much as I'd like to hear your sermon on the commercialisation of the Church, sire, I can't help but feel you're changing the subject." Merlin was now sorting through the candles. Why couldn't Niel understand that old candles had to be used up completely before moving onto fresh ones? Otherwise you ended up with a lot of ugly half-burnt ones in various states of dissolving, all thrown in together with no system.

Arthur massaged his temples with his hands. "We live in a martial culture, Merlin. Gawaine and Elyan can wield a sword, and lead companies of men. That is the mark of nobility in the code of chivalry. And Guinevere is Elyan's brother, so I could use that connection. Perhaps if we lived in the time of the Old Religion, when they revered wise men as much as warriors, someone with your gifts would be respected. Perhaps if the Church followed the example of the Risen God, and elevated men of peace as high as men of war, someone with your scholarship would have been a great prince. Yet in our world the boundaries are set by the sword, and the ideal of virtue is manifested in the strength of the man-at-arms. It's not fair, but those are the rules nobles live and die by." Arthur looked at Merlin very seriously. "If it's any consolation… even when I thought you a mere fool, I always felt there was something greater to you. You don't need a man-made title, Merlin. Nature has marked you with a different sort of nobility, and I think one day, some power much greater than I shall place laurels on your brow."

Merlin flushed. "That is a very pretty sentiment, sire. And if it's any consolation, I once thought you just a big oaf who could swing a sword. And now I see that your crown has made you a silver-tongued emissary. You don't need to give me a title, because Nature has already done so? Very convincing. If I hadn't spent so much time mucking out your stables, I almost wouldn't recognise the smell of horsesh-,"

"Merlin! I'm trying to compliment you. Take it for once."

Merlin transferred a sheaf of papers to Arthur's writing desk. "Could you tell your squires that correspondence goes on the writing desk, not the dining table, the bedside table, the chest or the floor? No idea how long these have been lying around. They have _stains _on them." He couldn't quite bring himself to look at Arthur. "And I do understand the magnitude of what you've done, sire. I almost wish you hadn't, now. Honouring Gwen and I, who aren't even capable of fighting, will provoke your enemies. Maybe the Archbishop was right to warn you against associating with me. If staying away would keep you safe... "

Arthur shot upright and stared at him. "Merlin! You're the one who was always telling me to stand up to my father and the other lords! You're the one who said Gwen would make a better wife than any baroness! And you're the one who insisted that… that I trust some rustic hind over my highborn advisors!"

"Yes, and… perhaps I was wrong. We were young men, sire, and I thought both of us were invincible. You had the strength of your sword arm, and I had my… well, I thought all things were possible. And now… you have to do what's best for your kingdom. What's most politically prudent. You have to keep yourself safe, from threats both within and without. And you must play the role of the king Camelot needs."

Arthur's eyes clouded with concern. Merlin couldn't bear to look at him.

"What happened to you, Merlin? What happened to that bold lad who swaggered into this city and picked a fight with the crown prince, calling me a royal prat? Even when I thought you a rude swineherd, there was a purity and idealism about you that… that I respected. You had such a strong moral conviction, you didn't care that everyone in this kingdom thought you were mad, even your lords and masters. I needed that perspective, needed someone raised outside the intrigues of this palace. And are you one of us, now? Willing to give up what you care about for my reputation? Frightened of the political workings of others? What happened?"

_You happened. _"I grew up, sire. We've both lost too many people to be cavalier about our actions. We're not wayward boys any more. Uther and Gaius won't make our excuses and rein us in. We have to do that for ourselves."

"So I did this to you." At last Arthur turned his eyes away, looking down at his hands. "I'm responsible. You were like a little ray of light from outside Camelot. You made the darkness a little more bearable. I could see things as they really were. And now, that spark has gone out. It was the pressure of being my servant, of being torn in too many directions, of being under all that strain without anyone to support you. I should have given instead of just taking. Why didn't my father teach me that servants are people too, not just things to use and discard? Maybe then being pledged to me wouldn't have destroyed you."

"It didn't destroy me, Arthur!" Merlin almost shouted. "Serving you gave me a purpose, showed me that I could be good for something. Before I met you, I was nothing."

"You were never nothing, Merlin. There was something in you destined for things of import. Even without me, you would have an extraordinary life."

"Without you, I wouldn't want one."

There was silence for a while, then, only the sounds of the city drifting through the open windows. A breeze ruffled the thick red curtains, making the golden tassels dance. Merlin left the writing desk, moved closer to Arthur's bed and picked up one of the king's boots, examining the scuffed and dirty surface.

"Put that down. Let Niel do it, the prat."

"It won't take long -,"

"I said put it down!" There was steel in Arthur's voice. "Your hands have bled enough for me. Sit down."

Merlin let the boot fall. He took a seat on the other side of Arthur's bed, facing the windows, which let in a flood of watery March sunlight. Merlin had wanted to bring up soil-boxes to put on the balcony. He had a green thumb, and could have urged herbs and flowers to spill out of them. A spot of natural colour would be nice in here, and lavender would have helped Arthur sleep, chamomile removed the creases from his brow. Arthur had scoffed at the idea, but he would have secretly liked it, Merlin thought.

"The earls are restive," Arthur went on, as if nothing had happened. "As you rightly said. It will not suffice to feast them and cloak them in cloth-of-gold. I intend to do a tour of my domains. Starting with the marcher lords in the east, for they hold the border against the Normans, and I fear the princes of the House of Normandy have grown idle. Whenever the Normans and Saxons stop fighting each other, they turn their greedy eyes to the west. It would be well for us if they stayed at each other's throats, but even their ancient blood-feud simmers down from time to time. After that, I shall have to go north and secure the northern coasts. Saxons and Vykings would hit us there, for they have the advantage by sea. There will be a lot of politicking, hosting nobles and co-ordinating men-at-arms. It will be dull, but there will be plenty to keep a herald busy."

"I had never seen the sea," said Merlin. "Until the Labyrinth of Gedref. Even though all I could think about was you dying, I still thought it was the most beautiful and terrible thing I'd ever seen. A vast lake, stretching on forever, as far as the eye can see, with white-crested foam, like horse's manes, just like in the stories. It had a voice, whispering as soft as a lover, but deep as thunder. The sand - I never got to touch the sand. Mother said on the rocks there would be seal-maidens, sunning their skins and weeping for the human bairns they left behind. She said there were merfolk with voices so enchanting they could make sailors run laughing into the waves until they drowned. She said finfolk lived on coral reefs deep below, and they came ashore to take human lovers. If I was wilful, she said she'd leave me on the shore, and a finwife with webbed hands would steal me away and take me to an undersea palace to raise me as her own, for they loved human wains."

"When we go to the north," said Arthur, "we'll see the seashore again, just the two of us. We can climb the rocks and walk the sands. Look for seashells, maybe. I think you might _be _part fishfolk, Merlin, given how far apart your eyes are."

Merlin felt pressure on his head, and realised that Arthur was stroking his hair.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever feel like some calamity is hanging over you?"

"Don't be silly, Merlin. Nothing is going to happen to either of us."

"Arthur?"

"_Yes, _Merlin."

"What if they make you send me away?"

There was silence for a moment, and Arthur's hand left Merlin's head. Then Merlin felt an arm around him, embracing him from behind, and the warm weight of Arthur's body against his.

"They can try."


	6. Daughter of Iron

The ceremony of ennoblement had well and truly ended, though none knew the protocol for when a king and his herald ran off like two boys fleeing their chores. First the startled attendants of the king had disappeared after him, swearing oaths, and then the earls had risen and swept off, doubtless considering it a slight to be abandoned so abruptly. This had been the signal for the general gathering to disperse, the ushers rousing people from their positions and trying valiantly to clear the hall in an orderly fashion. Geoffrey of Monmouth and the bearers of arms, having recovered from their shock, gathered their heraldic paraphernalia and scurried off, and the Archbishop, throwing scandalised glances at the Blessed Virgin and making the sign of the cross, vanished into another room.

This left Guinevere, Elyan and Gawaine standing together at the base of the dais, wondering at the unusual way their ascent to high society had been effected.

"How do you like that?" said Elyan at last. "He made the three of us nobles, but Merlin got dragged off with him. I suppose we know who the favourite is."

"I'm glad to see Merlin get some reward," said Guinevere.

"Aye," said Gawaine. "Princess Pendragon does not deserve all that lad does for him."

"And he'll be doing a lot more. He may well miss the menial labour when this week is out. You too, Gwen. I'm ever ready to swing a sword for my king, but mixing with the highborn is where the real trial lies."

"It'll be a struggle," said Guinevere, as they moved down the nave towards the exit, the last members of the congregation straggling out before them, "but with time I think I can endure pheasant and fine wine as well as you, brother." She thought Elyan looked very regal with his baron's coronet and scarlet penitent's robes. She only wished one of their parents had been alive to see this day.

"No one can endure food and drink as well as Elyan," said Gawaine. "Speaking of which, we should celebrate. I'll wager the Rising Sun does a special for barons."

"I don't think the nobles carouse there," said Guinevere. "We're expected to drink more in banquet halls than in public houses now. This could deal a serious blow to your lifestyle, Gawaine, since you essentially live in taverns."

"Ah, come on now. Even Arthur's been in the Rising Sun. I've seen lots of barons down on their luck, drinking their sorrows away."

"Yes, well, our fortunes are meant to be headed in the opposite direction, God willing. We should share a meal together, but there's so much business to attend to. Elyan and I have decided we want to keep the forge. It won't be practical for us to live there much longer, however."

"You can handle all that, Gwen," said Elyan. "I want to check on the Beyn Avrami I told you about."

"Surely they can wait a little while."

"They've been accused of sorcery, Gwen! You know what the guards are like."

"I do. I have spent my fair share of time in the dungeons, with the death sentence for witchcraft hanging over me. It was a shame I had no protector then."

"I was in another kingdom! Had I but known - fine, please yourself. Gawaine, perhaps you can check on them while I go with my sister."

"I think not," said Gawaine. "The lady makes me feel unwelcome. Her brother's amiable enough, but they're jumpy around knights. I suppose their only encounters with our kind have been unpleasant ones."

"We aren't the knights they're used to. You and I were commoners, and we have no quarrel with those of different beliefs."

"Perhaps not, but when they see an armoured man coming towards them, I don't think their first instinct is to discuss politics. Any more than you or I would quiz a Saxon warrior about his prejudices before deciding whether to fear him. You can befriend them later, if you like. I only know how to win friends over a pint, which for all I know is a mortal sin among their people."

They exited the cathedral, blinking as they emerged into the pleasant spring sunshine. As they descended the broad steps, they were immediately surrounded by a clamouring crowd of people. The nobles might have reservations about their new peers, but so far as the commons were concerned, the three debutants were concrete proof of Arthur's new Camelot. Already the laws regarding freedom of association between various classes had been relaxed, for Arthur had allowed the wealthier Beyn Avrami to move anywhere they pleased within Camelot's walls, and had nominally eased the persecution of the Druids, provided they stayed outside the city gates.

The Archbishop's speech might have signalled tensions with the king, with its heavy emphasis on the evils of witchcraft, infidels and unnatural practices. However, on the subject of social mobility His Grace had been only positive. (The shrewder observers did note, along with the earls, that the Archbishop believed in social mobility in _both _directions, but so far as the commoners were concerned, the only direction available to them was upwards. Unlike the barons, they had nothing to lose and everything to gain.)

Camelot had suffered repeated misfortunes over the past several seasons, but a year of peace had lured many prosperous merchants back to the capital, and even future war would be profitable, provided the city was now the aggressor rather than the victim. Many wealthy traders and freemen of estate saw Guinevere, Elyan and Gawaine as proof that the rite of ennoblement was in reach of the common man, and that with sufficient wealth and influence they could purchase rank within the city.

After almost fifteen minutes fending off congratulations, invitations to dinners, offers of goods and services, and discreet marriage proposals, the three barons were able to extricate themselves from the throng with great difficulty. Gawaine lagged behind, for he had found himself surrounded by handsome young women deeply interested in his feats of arms. He eventually took his leave and drifted away in a cloud of feminine admiration. Elyan and Guinevere struggled down to the street where they were able to engage a wagon to carry them back to their ancestral home in Lowtown. Before they could board, however, they were interrupted.

"My lord! My lady!" A distinguished-looking gentleman in a severe black tunic and travelling cloak was hurrying to catch up with them.

"Please, master," Elyan began, holding out a hand to ward him off, "we must away-,"

"It is urgent that I speak with you, my lord!" The aged gentleman closed the distance between them and came to a halt, breathing heavily. His hair flashed silver in the light, and his once proud features had drooped from age, though physical exertion had livened them with a rush of blood. "I am Oswine, my lords! I am the steward of the Wyldheim estate. We have been without a steady baron or baroness for half a dozen years. I entreat you, may I speak with you? There are many matters of import."

Guinevere and Elyan looked at each other. The baroness spoke first.

"We are travelling into Lowtown to settle the matter of our house, Master Oswine. You are welcome to accompany us, though you may not find the environs to your taste."

Oswine raised his bushy eyebrows. "Lady, I have served barons for many years, but I was not born to the comforts of a lord's manor. Lower towns hold no terrors for me. And it is Oswine, if it please you. I am to be your servant, if you will have me, for I come with your estate."

Elyan helped Guinevere into the carriage, then offered Oswine a hand. It was rejected, for Elyan's new rank took precedence over Oswine's seniority in years, so Elyan climbed in himself, allowing Oswine to humbly bring up the rear. Once the three of them were seated as comfortably as possible in the open wagon, the driver gave the reins a flick and set the carthorse trotting. The animal was not one of the palace-bred rounceys trained to amble with a level motion, and its bouncy, unschooled gait made for a jarring ride. However, the driver's skill and perseverance in keeping to the smooth dirt lanes somewhat softened the effect, and besides, all three passengers had been born to circumstances where being driven in any kind of vehicle was a luxury.

"I was pleased to be notified of the ceremony," Oswine said. "The king has given you the estate, and made you founders of a noble house. He intends you to hold these lands for many years, and pass them to your descendants. Perhaps Wyldheim shall know some steadiness at last."

"What happened to your former lord?" Elyan asked.

"What has not happened?" asked Oswine. "The nobles are falling like the deer they hunt in the woods. Wyldheim lies within the king's personal holdings, at the very centre of his kingdom. It should have been safe from enemy incursions. Yet in the past few years, our barons have perished in dragonfire, or fallen to the swords of armies both mortal and fey. No lord has held the castle for more than a season.

"Of the womenfolk, who took not to battle, Lady Tidhild perished on a visit to the capital when she drank of the city's wells, during the plague. Lady Agatha was slain by a wight on Samhain. She had gone to bring fresh torches to the groundskeeper's children, sweet girl, and her light went out. We found her after sunrise, frozen and alone. During Agravaine's march on the capital, Lady Engeleis scorned to pay homage to Morgana, and offered her castle as a shelter for knights loyal to King Arthur. The witch's men breached the walls by sorcery, and mounted the lady's head over her own drawbridge. I can only pray that her death was swift, and they inflicted no other defilements upon her. Her soul is with the Holy Virgin, I trust, or with the Valkyries of her Norse forebears."

A brief silence greeted this sombre litany of the dead. Then Elyan asked, "Do they keep the Norse gods in Wyldheim, then?"

"Not as such, my lord. No more than any other people's gods. The place has a mixed history. The bulk of the commons are of Wallish descent, as elsewhere in Camelot. As the name tells you, the place was raided by Norsemen, who settled there. They were later displaced by Saxons, and then a Norman marcher lord. I believe the region returned to Camelot some hundred and fifty years ago. Many of the gentry still have Saxon names, and take pride in their Saxon history, though the bulk of their blood and their faith lies with Camelot.

"In this, Wyldheim's gentry were anticipating the future. Albion has received too many infusions of peoples to return to her ancient purity. If the island is to be united, her various peoples must begin to learn from each other. I believe King Uther recognised this, for until his time, the Pendragons kept their line pure, only marrying other Cambric nobles. But Uther took Lady Ygraine to wife, and she had Saxon and Norman blood on her mother's side.

"Some cursed Uther as a traitor for this, especially among the Druids. They see the Saxons and Normans as invaders to be driven out. Yet it was a politic choice. Through Ygraine's blood, Uther's son is distant cousin to the rulers of the Angles and the Normans. As Camelot is not strong enough to unite Albion's kingdoms by war, she may yet unite Albion by love. Were Arthur to-"

Oswine stopped talking abruptly.

"Why do you hesitate, Oswine?" Guinevere said. "Were Arthur to marry a princess of Norman or Saxon blood, he would continue his father's work, expanding Camelot and strengthening the unity of Albion yet further. Wasn't that your next remark?"

Oswine looked chagrined. "Lady, it is not my place to speculate on the king's marital life."

"And why shouldn't you?" Guinevere said. "Perhaps you were denied the pleasure of hearing the Archbishop's speech, but His Grace informed us that nobles have no personal lives, kings least of all. And every soul in this kingdom, from the meanest errand boy to the loftiest earl, is speculating loudly about the king's habits in the bedchamber, so why shouldn't you? Speak your mind without fear, Oswine."

Oswine's age-blanched countenance looked rather more flushed. "Lady, kings marry for other reasons than policy. I think even King Uther's marriage was wise only in hindsight. I hear he pursued his wife first out of desire. He raised an army, they say, against her husband, while he yet lived."

"But Uther's armies were strong enough that he could squander a marriage on love and still take the lands he wanted by force. They say he could have driven the Normans and Saxons back into the sea, had he not become obsessed with magic, and spent all his strength on hunting dragons and druids to extinction. If Arthur weds a princess, she will bring vast lands and territories as her dowry. If he weds someone with nothing, like me, he will have to take those lands another way. By force. I will be the cause of more warfare."

"Gwen, why do you always overthink everything?" Elyan exclaimed. "If Arthur cares for you, and you care for him, let it be."

"No, Elyan," Guinevere said. "I _have _to think on these things. I care for Arthur, but I care for other things beside his happiness and my own. If our marriage is the cause for Camelot going to war a dozen times instead of three or four, isn't that something for me to care about? You're a knight, and will be fighting on the frontlines alongside my king and my friends. And even if you're ready to face that risk, what of the common people, who are untrained for war? When Arthur invades the cities of the Normans, it won't just be knights who die. The majority of the dead will be people like those in Lowtown. When our treasury is exhausted on swords and horses, how will our poor survive winters to come? It won't be Arthur who starves, nor you or I, now we are barons. What kind of person would I be if I didn't value their lives as much as my own?"

They passed much of the rest of the journey in silence, Guinevere watching the scenery go by. The city reminded her of one of Merlin's characteristically cute expressions. She couldn't remember when she'd first heard him use it, but he'd said he was like a swan, apparently idle, but all bustling below the surface. It had occurred to Guinevere that the same image applied to the Citadel, for on its surface the castle was all stately, gliding ladies, gallant knights, and elegant banquets, but in the castle's underbellies an army of cooks, maids and servants toiled with grimy faces to keep the court afloat. And the city herself was built the same way. The streets of Hightown were filled with elegant mansions, grand squares, and charming statues, under which nobles and their prettily dressed ladies swept to and fro. These picturesque scenes gave way to the clamour of Midtown, where merchants and craftsmen shouted their wares, and the only women seen were hard at work in plain garments, hauling goods and haggling with traders.

And finally they came to the rough and dismal scenes of Lowtown, where street children ran between the gutters, playing or making coin for their parents, and men and women alike were crammed together, wearing grey rags. The people's faces were aged before their time, their hands raw and backs hunched from labour and neglect. Workers carted sacks of grain and raw materials, their toil making it possible for the enchanted dreamworld of the Citadel to exist. There was an air of hopelessness or desperation here.

The forge was located in one of the pleasanter border sections of Lowtown, relatively speaking. The street was populated by craftsmen whose skill brought in enough coin that they could have relocated somewhere slightly nicer, had they wished. But they'd all had reasons for staying, and Tom had told his children that this very forge had been lit from a sacred flame brought from a smithy of the Old Religion in ancient times, when the Fair Folk and Aesir had walked Camelot. This holy fire had been a blessing to their family for generations, he'd said.

Though Tom's children had been baptised in the New Faith, and had gone to the church each Sunday to hear sermons from the bishops, they'd also heard different stories from their father, especially when he was in his cups. They'd grown up hearing of the sons of Dôn, who'd brought fire down from the gods, and taught mankind to work metal. When the men of Cambria learnt how to forge iron, they'd risen up and thrown off the oppression of the Fair Folk, who had enslaved mankind. The Fey were impossibly ancient and powerful, and had driven men before them like wild beasts. But the creatures of Faery also hated any weapon forged of pure iron with a mortal passion, and they had yielded to the blacksmith's art.

Then the dragons had come, who feared iron not, for their fire melted steel away, and their magic was even greater than that of the Fairykind. Then men were subjugated again, until they struck a deal with the priestesses of the Old Religion. Tom said the Druids had used their ancient knowledge to teach men new smithcraft and new spellcraft, and warriors and magicians together had tamed the dragons. But then the dragons and men alike found themselves in thrall to the High Priestesses, until the Italics had come with their powerful armies and the Nazarin faith, to sweep away all the old ways.

On some level, Tom had really believed these events had occurred, even if they were incompatible with the Nazarin faith he also professed. He had believed the old heroes of Cambria lived on, for their blood survived in noble Houses like the Pendragons, and that one day, their Golden Age would return. But in the end, Tom had been slain by King Uther, a descendant of the very heroes whose return he had spent his life waiting for.

_My father was a hero to me, _thought Guinevere. _It didn't matter that he lacked noble blood. He gave up his own dreams and spent his every waking breath building a better life for his family. And as for the descendants of the sons of Dôn, they are a shadow of what Father believed they were. The old heroes were warriors, smiths and magicians. The Pendragons have outlawed magic and forgotten smithing, preferring to make us remember their craft for them, so they don't sully their hands with servants' work. All that our nobles know is war, and their sword is turned against their own people as easily as against outsiders. Are we more free than we were under the Fair Folk? All that's changed is that we use our metalcraft to arm those who rule over us, not fight them. I wish Father had been his own hero, instead of waiting for the return of the righteous kings who never came._

They left the cart behind at the main road, and went on foot towards the forge. The warren of cramped, narrow streets was gloomy even in broad daylight, and Guinevere was grateful for Elyan's armed presence. She had taken this route a thousand times, but today she felt ridiculous and out of place, with her satin gown trailing the ground. The trio attracted frank stares, some simmering with predatory curiosity, from figures that slid in and out of the shadows.

At last they came upon their street, and Guinevere saw that a small crowd had gathered to meet them. News travelled fast in the low places, even faster than in Hightown with all its swift horses, ravens and criers, perhaps because humanity was pressed in so much tighter here. Elyan's becoming a knight had been surprising enough, and it was certainly more uncommon for a blacksmith's girl to be made a noble.

Cadi, a seamstress who had been Guinevere's childhood playmate, was the first to approach. Looking uncertain, she dropped a curtsy, but Guinevere rushed to her and took hold of her by the arms.

"Stop that!" Guinevere said. "Not when it's just us." The uncertainty broke then, and Cadi laughed and threw her arms around Guinevere, just as if they were girls again, skipping hand in hand between the lanes, tying ribbons in each other's hair, and playing at being princesses. And now Guinevere was a baroness, with a keep and lands, while Cadi lived in a hovel with a husband who drank all her earnings, and left her barely any coal for her hearthfire. How cruel a jest life was sometimes.

The others came forward now, aged men and women who'd watched Tom's children grow up, and younger faces who'd been Guinevere and Elyan's companions from their swaddling days. There were many warm wishes, and pats on the back for Elyan, and nods in Guinevere's direction with words to the effect that they'd always known she'd go far.

Guinevere looked at these people with their lined faces, prematurely grey hair, and work-worn hands, and their gaunt-eyed children with scabby knees and impossibly thin limbs, and felt a conflicted sadness to be leaving them. What right did she have to put all this behind her to sit in a fine manor and be idle? The women in her family had worked all their lives, and been proud of it. Guinevere's eye kept being drawn to the raw and pin-pricked hands of the seamstresses, and her fingers ached in sympathy. She knew what it was to spend weeks labouring over a gown, laying stitches, painstakingly embroidering detail, sewing on pearls and fur linings, all so that someone like Lady Morgana could turn heads at one feast and toss the garment aside, perhaps never to wear it again. Now Guinevere would be on the other side of that exchange, and somehow it did not sit well with her.

At last they made their way inside. If Oswine was embarrassed by the humbleness of his new masters' living quarters, he made no show of it. Guinevere asked him to sit at the table and reflexively offered him a drink of water, which almost made him jump out of his skin. She reminded herself not to put her servants (_her _servants?) in such an awkward position in future by offering hospitality, unless there was someone of equal rank present to wait on them. There would be so many things to unlearn, and so many new things to remember in their place.

Although Oswine was the steward of a specific estate, and not a general scribe, he did not hesitate to bring out a quill and roll of parchment at Guinevere's tentative question, and begin drafting a letter to their landlord requesting a transfer of the deed to the property. Leaving Oswine to this task, Guinevere began to walk through the house, saying goodbye in her mind. Though she was expected to stay in the capital while the assembly of lords was present, she did not know how wise it was for two nobles to remain living in such a place. She remembered the misfortune that had befallen her in this house, how she had been kidnapped by Morgause's henchmen and then eventually reunited with Elyan.

There were other painful memories, too. She remembered being barely a dozen years of age, and her mother dying of the fever. Eryn had lain febrile and sweat-soaked on the old double mattress, muttering dully to herself as the rash spread all over her body and her throat swelled up. Guinevere had not secured a position in the palace, then, so she had known no physicians as skilled or compassionate as Gaius or Merlin. They had only been able to afford a Lowtown leech, who had given Eryn tinctures to correct her humours, which had hardly seemed to have any effect. To Guinevere, it had all seemed like a dream, for her mother was an invincible woman, up at the break of dawn each morning and doing the work of ten seamstresses throughout the day, seeing all, knowing all, succeeding at whatever she turned her hand to. She had saved the family with her ingenuity a hundred times, but she had not been able to save herself.

But here-here was a happy memory, for wasn't it before this window that Arthur had kissed her? She did not know what had been going through her mind that day. There had been anger, anger at Arthur, which had suddenly thawed like snow before the sunlight of his smile. That was where all the trouble had begun. Why had Arthur thought she wished to be a noblewoman? She would become nobility, if it meant marrying him, but he had given her the unwanted title and denied himself to her. Was this meant to be a consolation?

Yet before Athur, there had been another. Lancelot. Hadn't she armed him in this room, as her ancestors had once armed their kings before sending them off to war? Lancelot had wanted to be a knight so badly, had wanted to serve Arthur and Camelot, for he'd heard the legends of the ancient heroes. Just like Guinevere's father. And she had pleaded with Lancelot to keep Arthur safe on the night of the Dorocha, and Lancelot had done as she'd asked. There was another good man who'd died for the Pendragon kings. At her behest.

She found Elyan in the smithy by the forge, gazing pensively into its quiet depths. She came up beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"What are you thinking of, Elyan?"

"Remember how Pa would sometimes leave coins out on the forge overnight? He said if they were gone in the morning, the elves had taken them and would leave us in peace. They took their taxes, same as the king, he said, and would give us no trouble if we treated them right."

"I remember," said Guinevere with a laugh. "He used to tell us how the elves hated smiths most of all, because we made iron weapons. But they would also use us to work iron for them, and pay us handsomely, because they could not touch the stuff themselves. He said the elves would come and steal human babies in the night, and he had to leave coin out for them so they'd leave his babes be, and bring luck to his forge." Guinevere sombered. "But I suppose Pa was wrong. He didn't have good luck after all."

"Well, maybe Pa was right," Elyan said. "It wasn't elves that took him away. It was Men that we couldn't protect ourselves from." Elyan withdrew a silver piece from his robe, and tossed it into the forge.

"What are you wishing for, Elyan?" Guinevere asked. "Safety? Good fortune?"

But Elyan was silent, and his face gave nothing away.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter was a slog to write, and I hope it's not too obvious. Being shallow, I find it much easier to write about the numerous pretty boys in Camelot, but I had to do something with Gwen.

Gwen had a lovely personality in the first two series so it's a shame the writers did her dirty later on (I know they were working under all kinds of constraints). She doesn't have the inherently interesting role of a knight, mage or noble. I think her servant's background was meant to be the driver of both drama and her social conscience, but the writers dropped that later like so many other threads.

This story will focus on Merlin and Arthur, so I don't know that I can flesh Gwen out much, but I had to do something to justify her. I'm kind of inventing her development and motivation wholesale here, so it may be erratic. But I think I can allude to her working-class background without making her the first Revolutionary Socialist of Camelot. She deserves a better arc (like every character really).

Stay safe, everyone.


	7. Arthur's Repentance

As Merlin approached one of Arthur's little used private studies, he was surprised to hear voices emanating from within. He recognised the precise tones of Gaius, but he had not realised there would be a third person joining them today.

Arthur had been tight-lipped as he'd sent Merlin from his chambers. Speaking with Arthur was a lot like duelling with him, and Merlin had learnt over the years how to anticipate the king's thrusts, parry them, and put him on the defensive. For one moment the king had lowered his guard, but just as he did during jousts, he had quickly recovered and shielded himself again. With Uther gone, Merlin was perhaps the only one left who knew how to bypass Arthur's layers of armour, and when their weapons were words rather than swords, Merlin could easily hold his own against the king.

The trouble was that Arthur had learnt Merlin's habits over the years as well, having watched the warlock with more attention than a noble usually paid his servant, and so the king had grown adept at deflecting Merlin's tilts except when he wished to.

All Merlin knew for now was that Arthur had set up a number of new missions for him, and that Merlin would commence in his role as royal herald immediately. This particular mission involved meeting Gaius for discussion of some legal matter, for which Merlin's presence was necessary, for reasons he could not fathom. The secrecy made him uneasy, and he got the distinct impression that his duties were poorly defined, that being Arthur's herald would still involve being the king's general dogsbody, although the messes he cleaned up would now be of a political rather than domestic nature. Still, it couldn't be worse than mucking out the stables.

Merlin didn't bother knocking, for he was expected, and pushed open the door. Gaius stood by the window, and his companion was seated before one of the bookshelves. Merlin recognised him as Bishop Rhodri, a young priest who had once been close to Merlin, before his promotion to bishop.

"There you are, Merlin," Gaius said. He swept over and gripped Merlin's shoulders, a genuine smile softening his cantankerous features. "The royal herald. I'm proud of you, boy. Think of how far you've come since you first walked into this city, with nothing to your name. All those years you spent labouring in obscurity, unthanked and unappreciated, are finally to be rewarded." Gaius pulled Merlin into an embrace.

"Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you," Merlin replied, his voice muffled in Gaius' shoulder.

"You could," Gaius rejoined, releasing him. "I'm just proud to say that I played some part, however small, in shaping the man you've become. And this is just the beginning, Merlin. Arthur has finally decided that it's safe for you to step out of the shadows. Who knows what you will accomplish when you don't have to hide who you are?"

Merlin wanted to ask Gaius what exactly he meant by stepping out of the shadows, but the bishop had approached by then and taken Merlin's hand.

"Congratulations, Herald of Camelot," Rhodri said. "It seems we've both come up in the world, and we both owe it to the king. How long has it been since last we met? A twelvemonth, perhaps. Strange, it feels like we were much younger then."

"Thank you," said Merlin. "And congratulations to you as well, Your Excellency. I'd heard you were made a bishop, but I didn't know where you'd been sent."

"Ah," said Rhodri, a strange look flitting across his face. "I have been many places, Merlin, and seen things that would have shocked even you and Gaius, perhaps. Yet sometimes I feel that Camelot is where I've been needed most of all. Shall we all have a seat? Then I can explain why the king arranged this meeting for us."

They did as the bishop suggested. Rhodri looked troubled, and he did, in fact, seem more aged than when Merlin had last seen him.

Merlin remembered Rhodri as an absent-minded youth with messy blonde hair who'd hardly seemed like a priest at all. He'd turned up at Geoffrey of Monmouth's library one day, and both he and Merlin had reached for the same volume of _De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae_. Seizing upon the book at the same time, they'd looked at each other in surprise, and then broken out in smiles at the ridiculousness of the scene.

Upon noticing Rhodri's clerical collar, the only sign of his vocation, Merlin had at first been suspicious of the priest's intentions. Merlin did not trust the Church's agents with the histories of Albion, for they seemed to twist the past to their own advantage, taking only what was evil from the old texts, and censoring whatever they disagreed with. Merlin had seen this tendency in Archbishop De Croismere, who sometimes mentioned how the Palatine Empire had fallen due to the Sin of Lot's People. Merlin, who'd been forced to brush up on Palatine history as Gaius had taught him the Italic language, knew for a fact that at the height of her strength, several of Pallantium's emperors had taken male lovers, some of whom openly rose to power and distinction.

If anything, the final collapse of Pallantium had come after the old gods had been eradicated, and the nobility had totally converted to the Nazarin faith. This inconvenient fact had spurred St Augustine to write _De Civitate Dei Contra Paganos, _defending the New Faith from the charge that it had brought about the end of Palatine civilisation_. _

Archbishop De Croismere did not like to advertise that it was widespread adoption of Mother Church's religion, rather than illicit love between men, which had preceded the shattering of the Empire by the Germanic hordes. Most in Camelot took the Archbishop's version of history at face value, and as it was nigh impossible for the commons to obtain a scholarly education outside the Church, they were very unlikely to hear alternatives to her doctrine.

Merlin had been worried, then, to see Rhodri's interest in Gildas' _On the Ruin and Conquest of Brython, _a book in which the author argued that the Brythons were a sinful and wayward people. Gildas borrowed heavily from the theology of the Beyn Avrami, whose God had punished them for the sins of their kings by scattering them among the nations, giving their kingdoms over to their enemies to be despoiled by the sword, and putting them in the bondage of the Aegyptians, Assyrians and Babylonians.

Gildas claimed that the people of Brython were even more sinful and wayward than the Beyn Avrami, that they had repeatedly rejected their Saviour, and were persistent in the ways of their evil paganism. Only the civilising influence of the Palatine Empire had brought Brython into the Church, and when Pallantium had collapsed, Brython's people had fallen back into the ways of the Old Religion. Thus, God had sent the Saxons, an evil race, as a punishment to tear apart the island and reduce Brython to ashes.

Merlin could already see the influence of this text on the Archbishop's thinking, and he shuddered to think what might happen if the Archbishop was preaching its lessons to Arthur, as he must have done to Uther before him. There was only one logical consequence of the belief that the repeated invasions of Albion by the Italics, Saxons, Scots, Picts, and Normans, were punishments from God for the impiety of her kings. It meant that Arthur could only unify his kingdom and drive out his enemies by becoming as brutal as his father in persecuting sorcerers and heretics, and that would undo all that Merlin hoped to accomplish.

Fortunately, Bishop Rhodri, at least, had turned out to be nothing like Archbishop De Croismere. Rhodri did not care for fire and brimstone, the sniffing out of sin, and the condemnation of the Church's enemies. He had not even cared for politics or the hierarchy of the Church, which meant that he wouldn't have risen very far, had not Arthur taken a liking to him.

Rhodri's interest in Church life seemed primarily intellectual and artistic, and once Merlin had become acquainted with the priest's personality, the two had become friends. Rhodri reminded Merlin a great deal of himself, for Rhodri had gone into the Church to acquire knowledge, and during their meetings he would spend hours discussing philosophy, architecture, medicine and art with Merlin, without ever mentioning sins or sorcery. They would sometimes exchange rare texts with each other, and Rhodri would even bring Merlin unusual herbs from the gardens of various monasteries. The monasteries of Camelot held many uncommon plants, scrolls and spices from the Orient, trafficked from the Church's expansion in war-torn Palestine, and the monks had imported many cunning ways of preserving and reproducing these treasures.

Over time Arthur had increasingly employed Rhodri as a spiritual advisor, until at last the young priest had been elevated to bishop, due to the king's favour. Merlin had not seen Rhodri since then, until today.

Now Rhodri played nervously with a string of amber prayer-beads, fondling them in his thin pale fingers, a faraway look in his eyes.

"In a way, Merlin," the bishop began, "I have you to thank for how far I've come. The king only took notice of me, you know, because he saw how much time we spent together. And that's where my mission began. Our mission, really."

"I don't understand," Merlin replied.

"The king knows you are not pious, and have reservations about the Church's teachings. When he saw your affection for me, a man of the cloth, his curiosity was piqued. I believe His Majesty always had plans to gather certain priests about him, clerics loyal to the throne, and perhaps less loyal to the existing establishment of the Church. His father was a great supporter of De Croismere, but Arthur is not his father. Perhaps my age was a factor, too, for Arthur is young and knows his rule will require new ways of thinking. Yet it was my association with you that bent his fancy to me. He values your judgement above all others."

"Really? He's never given me that impression."

"Perhaps he's better at concealing his feelings from you than you realise. That is what he was trained for since birth. Nobles who expose their true intentions seldom survive very long."

"If Arthur has any feelings, he hides them so well that I doubt he knows them himself."

"Then let us pray that state of affairs continues. For the gambit we are about to engage in will put all of us in peril should we betray the slightest hint to outsiders."

"What gambit? What do you speak of?"

"The king's conscience is troubled, Merlin." Rhodri got up and began to pace, the folds of his cassock rustling softly. "About a year and a half ago, he summoned me to his chambers and asked me to hear his confession."

Merlin frowned. "Why did he ask you? Wouldn't the Archbishop, or a senior cleric, hear the king's confession?"

"By custom, yes. But the king wanted a priest with less… rigid… views on sorcery to serve him. Obviously, the confessional seal makes the specifics confidential. But with the king's permission, and given your closeness to him, I can tell you that a particular theme emerged. The king… repents… of his treatment of magicians. He confessed to a number of massacres and executions that he committed or bore silent witness to, both as prince and king. Putting children to the sword… burning alive men who posed no harm… destruction of property, the reaving of entire communities of Druids. Camelot has such a bloodstained past that the king fears for his immortal soul."

Merlin could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Why should the king fear for his soul? The Church approves of all these actions. The Archbishop would have encouraged him to go even further. They'll make him a saint if he continues."

"That is why the king did not wish Archbishop De Croismere to administer the sacrament of confession. He wanted someone to hear the evil acts he had committed and recognise them as evil, not call them good. I believe that is one of the reasons he retains your services, Merlin. To speak unpleasant truths to kings is a task braver than that undertaken by any knight.

"There is another matter, also. Since ascending the throne, the king has gained access to a number of sealed records, and King Uther's personal effects. These reveal that King Uther's use of magic was much more widespread than King Arthur had previously thought. The ancient Pendragon kings were patrons of sorcery, and used the talents of magicians as much as knights to expand their empire. Uther apparently continued this tradition, until some incident caused the sorcerers of his kingdom to revolt against him, whereupon Uther resolved to utterly wipe them out.

"Camelot already has many mundane enemies, for the kings of Brython resent Arthur's claim to the island's throne. The persecution of sorcerers by his father, however, has created a far more dangerous adversary for His Majesty. Each day more and more magicians flock to the witch Morgana's banner, and so long as Camelot is hostile to magic, her ranks will continue to swell. Given the ancient history of the Pendragon kings, Arthur has as much claim to the loyalty of sorcerers as his sister does - although very few will see it that way.

"Considering these facts, King Arthur finds it untenable that the suppression of sorcery in Camelot should continue. He has little power to gainsay the Church's laws, but he is of a mind to… find a solution to the magical problem. One that will rob Morgana and her followers of their crusade against him. One that does not involve butchering magicians. In the short term, this would take the form of an amnesty towards sorcerers. In the long term…. the legalising of some forms of magic within the kingdom."

Merlin felt like his brain was going to explode. Disbelief hammered him, followed by elation, worry and betrayal. "Are you telling me that Arthur is planning to legalise magic? Why didn't he share this with me?"

"I believe he was attempting to protect you. You are the most conspicuous of the king's favourites. Many of the earls, and the lords of the Church, believe that you have an undue influence on the king, especially now that his family is gone. By keeping you away from this project, the king hoped to shield you from the attendant danger. But I do not think the king would have come to such a judgement as this without considering your own views, however discreetly. I believe you influenced him in this direction, though he did not say so."

Merlin looked at Gaius. "Did you know about this?" Was this what Gaius had meant about Merlin being able to step out of the shadows?

Gaius' deflected Merlin's questioning glance with the ease of long practice. "The king did approach me with this few weeks ago, Merlin. He told me not to trouble you until his half-formed plans were put into motion."

"And we will put them in motion now," said Rhodri. "It will be many years before the Archbishop and the Hierarchy consider altering the Church's law. However, there are more attainable goals at hand. Even without the Church's consent, the king has the power to end witch hunts. Gaius has confirmed it, for he well knows the laws of Camelot, and they were friendly to magic before Uther made his pact with De Croismere.

"Gaius has also given us the location of an influential Druid clan near the city, which is less hostile to Camelot than the others. If we can convince them of our intentions, we can rally a number of mages to our side, and perhaps stop their plotting against our kingdom. Morgana's army swells every day, and mage malcontents are devastating our footsoldiers. We cannot fight a war on multiple fronts. You will accompany me, Merlin. The presence of the king's herald, and a bishop of the Church, will show the Druids the king's sincerity."

Merlin said, "Rhodri, why are you doing this? How did you come to hold views so opposed to the Archbishop's? And what do you have to gain from advancing the cause of sorcerers?"

"I don't see it as the cause of sorcerers, Merlin. I see it as the cause of justice. Do you know what happened to the founder of the monastery I once lived in? He was burned by the Church three centuries ago for heresy. You think this a punishment reserved for witches, but in her history, the Church has burned far more of her own Nazarin children for incorrect beliefs and practices than she has those outside the faith. Arians, Pelagians, Gnostics and Unitarians… all believers in the Saviour, purged from the world as surely as the Old Religion is being burnt from Camelot now.

"I ministered to a witch before her execution once, for the Saviour enjoined us to visit the condemned. Her crime had been to use healing magics to restore a sick child. For this selfless act she was accused of consorting with spirits, and yet there was no malice in her. She could have used her powers to curse us, yet she went to her death with the composure of a saint.

"She told me she could not believe it a sin to use the gifts God had given her, and I could not fault her reasoning. Church law forbade me giving her the last rites, and held that she was destined for Hell. Yet looking around at the baying mob, and the victim being burned alive as priests intoned prayers for her soul, the only Hell I could see was the one men had created on Earth, with the Church's consent."

Merlin felt a rush of warmth towards Rhodri and his compassionate spirit. "But the Scripture is clear that sorcery is punishable by death," he countered.

"The scripture is not as clear as you'd think, Merlin. It does say that magic and communication with spirits of the dead is punishable by death. However, the Church celebrates supernatural powers in those who it calls saints, and condemns them in those of insufficient piety."

"What do you mean?"

"The patroness of my old monastery, St Brigid, will do just as well as any other. The Church believes she caused trees to bear fruit, healed the sick, turned water to beer, and caused her cloak to grow to an enormous size. These miracles pale in comparison to those attributed to other saints. If a man like the Saviour appeared in Camelot today, and walked on the seas, turned water to wine, and raised the dead, the Church would burn him as a witch in a heartbeat. It is only the miraculous powers of the insufficiently pious they attribute to the Deceiver; otherwise they willingly acknowledge these abilities to be of God. And if foretelling the future is a sin, why revere the prophets? Because we hold that their spirit of prophecy comes from God, while our enemies' come from Satan? Can this contradiction be endured? And if we barred communication with the dead, why pray to the saints and martyrs and ask for their counsel and intervention at all?"

"But if what you're saying is true…" said Merlin.

"Then there is room within the Church's teachings for acceptance of the arcane arts? To believe, as that good witch who perished in the flames, that her gifts came from Heaven, not Hell? I believe so, Merlin, and I am not the only Nazarin priest sympathetic to the magical arts. There have been many of us throughout history, though our writings have survived the Church's censors with great difficulty, and we have kept our views secret for survival. I have been working on a project for the king, to interpret canon law in such a way that it would allow greater room for such miracle-workers to practice their magic without persecution. It has been years of research, and it will be many more before the Church will bend. I fear that exposing myself to the Archbishop too soon will make a martyr of me, like the founder of my order. But once I have done what work I can on the field, I am ready to sacrifice whatever is necessary for my faith."

Merlin walked across to Rhodri, fell to his knees, seized the bishop's hand and brought the bishop's ring of office to his lips.

"Merlin!" Rhodri raised the younger man to his feet.

"Whatever you want of me," Merlin said, "whatever you ask of me, to finish this project of yours and Arthur's, I will give it. I am ready to sacrifice everything also. Only say the word."

Rhodri pressed his hand to Merlin's cheek affectionately, where it lingered for perhaps a fraction of a second longer than was necessary, before turning and walking over to the table. He took up a velvet bundle.

"Then rest well this night, Merlin, for we ride for the Druid camp on the morrow. In the forest we shall be in their domain, and many of their kind despise us. We shall be in danger, yet I pray the return of this sacred relic of theirs, taken from within Camelot's vaults, will pacify them. The king has war on his borders and will ride with his earls soon. In the forest he will be vulnerable to sorcery, and we must give the mages who hate him cause to believe he has a good heart. It is imperative that we succeed."

"Then we are agreed," said Gaius, bowing his head to Rhodri. "I pray for the success of your mission. But the day grows long, and I have patients to tend. Merlin, will you accompany me?"

Merlin also bowed to the bishop.

"God be with you, Merlin," said Rhodri, as the physician and the herald left. He returned the relic to the table, and the prayer beads reappeared in his hands. "May He be with us all."


	8. The Flower Boy

"I saw a dream which made me afraid, and the thoughts upon my bed and the visions of my head troubled me."

\- Daniel, 4:5

* * *

It is springtime in the woods of Ealdor, and Merlin is running through the trees with a surefootedness that would surprise those who know him as a clumsy boy. His mode of running is strange, and has often been jeered at. His lanky legs fly everywhere like a skittish fawn's, his arms flap wildly and inefficiently at the air, yet here in the woods there are none to laugh at him. He is no longer out of place, but merely another wild woodland creature.

Merlin leaves the village more and more often now, for he hates working on the farm all day, or sitting still for his lessons with Hunith. The other children despise him except for Will, and even Will doesn't understand everything that goes on inside Merlin's heart. Merlin hardly understands everything he feels himself.

He loves the forest in springtime especially, though the other children, and not a few adults, find it frightening. In this one instance, the usually shy Merlin is bolder than all his peers, for he delights in the wilderness with all its beauty, secrets and living things, and would fain live amongst it forever. It is life among other humans that is perplexing and fearsome to him.

His heart is lifting today, for he sees that the power of winter is truly broken, and spring has reclaimed the land at last. The sunlight penetrates even here, deep in the woods, where the boughs of trees cluster thickly together, and beams of gold and emerald light filter down, striping the mossy ground. The creeks and streams roar loudly, swollen with waters released by thawed frost, and a raucous symphony of birdsong fills the air.

But what Merlin has missed most of all are the wildflowers. Here and there in the woods, there are large gaps in the treeline where smaller plants have exploded into riotous growths, greedily drinking up any sun neglected by the trees. Sometimes storms have brought an avalanche of tree limbs crashing to the ground, leaving a gap in the canopy, or else woodcutters have left a clearing for sunlight to fill, or else there are more ancient, flat circles where trees refuse to grow, perhaps left over from structures built by forgotten peoples. Some of these clearings have toadstools growing in eerie shapes, or hoary stone circles, and people say they were made by the Fair Folk, and still bear traces of their magic. Merlin stopped fearing to walk in them long ago, for he has his mother's lucky rabbit's foot in his belt, along with an iron horseshoe, a pinch of salt, and dried four-leaf clover.

At the edge of one of these clearings now, Merlin undoes the cotton kerchief from around his neck, and knots the ends, making a little makeshift basket. The flowers have all returned from under the earth like old friends, nodding and waving on their stems, shaking their petals at him, as if they'd missed him during the winter. He runs amongst them and begins carefully choosing the ones he wants.

There are yellow flowers: celandines, buttercups, and daffodils, strewn through the grass, winking like little suns fallen to earth. There are sheer white flowers like the wood anemones, and even a few snowdrops, spangling the ground like winter dew stubbornly clinging on despite the season. There are striking blue-purples like the violets, forget-me-nots, and Merlin's favourites, the bluebells.

He likes the little blue trumpets dancing on the ends of the bluebell stems. They remind him of foxgloves. His mother had told him that foxgloves were once called "folk's gloves," because the little folk, the elves, used the petals for mittens. Merlin likes to imagine elves sipping honey from the bluebells, using them as little drinking horns, or perhaps blowing them as trumpets. He likes to imagine elves using walnut shells as chariots, harnessing teams of butterflies to their shell-carts, and riding through the woods. He has never seen such a thing, though he's heard that the best time to see fairies is under the witching light of the moon, and his mother would not let him stray into the forest so late at night.

As he pushes some soft-petalled blue columbines into his basket, he suddenly notices a woman watching him from the edge of the clearing, and he goes very still. There is something about her that's not quite right, for she is leaning out from behind a tree, her pale arm clinging to the trunk, and there is something animal-like about her hunched posture and staring eyes. She reminds Merlin of Ginger, the fat old tomcat, when he tenses up to watch birds from the windowsill, like he's gathering himself to spring.

Now that Merlin has seen her, the woman steps out from behind the tree and glides into the clearing. Her previous beast-like attitude is gone, and she moves with a tall, proud gait, like a fine lady. Merlin is taken aback by her beauty. She is wearing a gown like those sported by the damsels of King Cenred's city, but cut of a far more brilliant material than any Merlin has seen before. The woman herself is young, with a crown of wildflowers nestled in her sparrow-brown curls. Her face would be deathly pale, but two blooms of colour have opened in her cheeks, looking just exactly like the briar-roses that grow on their wild, thorny brambles. The blush lends a pink glow to her countenance, which spreads like the colour from rose petals steeped in milk.

There is something else about her that frightens Merlin. When she stands still, she looks lovely and fresh and blossoming with colour, like the springtide wood itself. But when she moves, her face changes, rippling with each step, and Merlin fancies he can see her ageing and growing young again instant by instant, as if she is part girl, part woman, and part toothless old crone. Behind the soft pink tenderness of her youth, he can see something pale and white as death, the last of the winter frost lurking behind the spring.

She is not human.

Merlin stands very still and watches her advance just a few paces into the clearing. She keeps looking at him in a way that he doesn't like.

"I know you're a fairy," he says loudly, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

The woman shakes her head slowly. "I am not of the Fey. I was ancient when their world was yet young." Her voice sounds beautiful, like petals rustling in the breeze, and sunlight falling on green meadows. But Merlin can hear darker colours in it, and he does not trust her.

"What do you want?" he says.

The woman tilts her head to one side. On one so pretty it should have been a charming, coquettish gesture, but instead she reminds Merlin of how foxes cock their heads when hunting hares.

"I have come to see the Emrys of this age. I heard tell of one with hair black as the raven, a face white as the wave-swan, and cheeks red as eglantine."

Merlin thinks such a person sounds ridiculous, though he is uncomfortably aware of his own black hair. "Who are you?"

Her eyebrows rise. "Have you forgotten Proserpina already? This is the season _Ver_, is it not? Tell me, boy, do you know what power brings the wildflowers that you love to gather? Have you not heard of the Lady?"

Merlin remembers being taken once on a long, boring cart ride to Camelot, to visit Gaius. He remembers seeing the interior of a dimly lit chapel, and a shrine to a motherly figure holding a baby on her lap. "Are you Our Lady of Camelot?"

The woman scoffs. "I am not that Lady," she says haughtily. "She is the mildest of us. Weak. Perhaps that is why men keep her around yet."

The woman bends down and plucks a pale pink dog rose in her slender fingers. The flower blushes with fresh colour at her touch, yet at the same time, Merlin can see it age and wither as if caressed by winter frost. This seems to sadden the woman, and she looks at Merlin hungrily, as if envious that he can gather wildflowers without changing them.

"Do you pity me, boy?" she says, reading Merlin's expression. "Then pity yourself, for you are like me. You cannot touch what you love without destroying it." She takes a few more steps towards Merlin.

"My mother told me about people like you," says Merlin, as bravely as he can. He wants to run, but he knows it would be unwise to turn his back on her. "I'm not to go with you, and I won't eat any food you give me."

"Very wise advice," says the lady. "A mother's love is a powerful thing. It never stops working its magic. Yet not even she can save you. Your destiny is already set. I was a maiden little older than yourself, when Fate abducted me cruelly from this world. Your calling will come shortly, and bear you to a kingdom of death. Your lord shall be a pale cruel king, the last dragon to pass from this world. You shall rise together, and fall together.

"Wise men shall come to see you, the beggar-king with no crown. You shall be the wisest sage in Albion, and the greatest fool in her history. You shall be the prophet of prophets, the son of miracles, yet unable to foresee your own doom. In a fine palace will you toil, like a bird in a gilt cage, and no circlet of honour will be placed on your brow, but a mourning-wreath of cypress shall be your laurel. Your robes of office shall be your funeral shroud."

"Why are you telling me these things?" says Merlin, who understands little of what she says, but dislikes all of it.

"To prepare you."

"I don't want to become all those things you said!"

"I did not wish to become myself, either. Yet we must rise to our destiny, or fall before it. Tell me, what do you name this season?"

"… we are in March. It is Easter."

"_Eostur!_ So you have not forgotten all the Lady's names. It is well. And the significance of it?"

"Father Swithun says the land comes back to life during this season. Because the Saviour is also resurrected, having first died by his sacrifice."

"Do not believe all men tell you. Nevertheless, there is some wisdom in that tale. Death must pay for new life. The Underworld demands its price each year, and the world's rebirth comes from those who are willing to make such a payment.

"Remember your Lady of Camelot? How she must have wept, bringing a child into the world, knowing that he was born only to die, raising him like a fatted lamb for slaughter. It was necessary for the rebirth of the kingdom of Heaven, you say. A prince born from the line revered by the Beyn Avrami, a descendant of King David, was a fitting sacrifice for that redemption.

"Would you be willing to do the same, Emrys? Would you raise and protect and cherish one you loved, knowing he must die in the end? Would you smile as you caressed such a king, just as the Lady of Camelot held her princely son, knowing that you were saving your lord for his own destruction? Would it console you if it served some greater rebirth, the restoration of another lost kingdom?"

"I don't know any kings," Merlin says.

"You will," promises the woman. "You will know them, and love them, and hate them. You will be loved and hated by them in turn. You will be the means of their salvation, and the instrument of their destruction. This is written. Your life is marked by death, and you will see many loved ones fall, and be sorely wounded by the death of one you love most of all. But I offer you these words.

"Remember this season, Emrys. Death serves a greater purpose, and it is not the end of life, for spring always returns. Even your little Father Swithun knows that. Know that this season will herald the rebirth of your power, and you will join the company of those who have suffered that others might live. Remember that when all you love has died. This is my consolation to you. Farewell."

The woman turns and begins to drift away, leaving Merlin not consoled at all. She pauses, and looks back over her shoulder.

"And one final gift. A blessing. You may not save all those you love, but you yourself will not be Death's prisoner. You will descend to the Underworld many times, but you shall always find your way home. You shall belong both to the living and the dead, a bridge between worlds, belonging to neither. The House of Death shall always be open to you, and you shall come and go as you please. In my house you shall be greeted as a prince, and always have a place at my table - though you may wish to heed your mother's advice, and not taste of my food!"

Then she is gone, gliding with superhuman speed, disappearing into the woodlands like a streak of snow blowing in the wind.

Merlin waits until he is sure she won't return then he drops his kerchief, scattering wildflowers to the ground. He wants nothing more to do with them. He starts running, and does not stop until he gets home.

There is a wreath of flowers hanging from the front door, pale lilies interwoven with green sprigs which he does not recognise, but he somehow knows they are from cypress, the tree that will furnish his funeral wreath. He takes the wreath down, runs to the village church, and tosses it before one of the gravestones, hoping the hallowed ground will have the power to stop whatever dark force has marked him.

That night he does not sleep a wink, but lies very still in bed, with the blanket pulled almost over his eyes, watching the door. He listens for the tread of a light step, the rustling of flowers in the night wind.

* * *

"Merlin!"

Merlin stumbled and almost fell against Gaius, who was supporting Merlin's weight.

"What happened?" Merlin mumbled.

"You were in some kind of faint. You seem to have fever. You didn't get any sleep, did you? Where exactly did you go last night?"

"I don't know," said Merlin thickly. He felt like he was slightly drunk, but the power buzzing in his blood did not come from alcohol. "I saw something. I don't know if it was a dream, or a memory. There was some woman… I think I know her."

"Merlin!" Gaius hissed. "You must stop doing this. The Archbishop doesn't like you. If you keep disappearing at night, you could be accused of attending a Witches' Sabbath! Especially if you start raving about dream-women. I don't have to remind you that men have burned for less."

"Gaius," Merlin whispered, "do you think magic is affected by the seasons? I think something is happening to me." Was it the Druid rite he had performed? Finna had told him to use the greenblood as much as he could, so that he would sink deep enough into its flow to merge with the spirits of the forest. Was this one of the side-effects she had not warned him about?"

"Not here, Merlin. Go and lie down. I'll see to my patients myself. I'll come to you as soon as I can."

"No, Gaius." Merlin, unsteady as he was, took his own weight. "I'll be fine. We're almost at the infirmary."

Gaius was unhappy, but after wiping the sweat from Merlin's brow, he continued on to the chamber where his first patient lay.

The chamber was empty but for an old man who lay in his bed, and two younger persons, a youth and maid, who sat very close to him. Merlin recognised them as Beyn Avrami by their dress.

Upon Gaius and Merlin's entry, the younger man leapt to his feet immediately, and bowed his head out of respect.

The maid, however, unclasped her hands from the older man's, and rose more slowly, drawing her veil about her face. After doing so, she stared very intently at Merlin from her brilliant dark eyes, and suddenly declared: "I have even heard of thee, that the spirit of the gods is in thee, and that light and understanding and excellent wisdom is found in thee."

* * *

**A/N: **Hi everyone, thanks for reading and supporting this weird li'l tale. It means a lot. Just letting you know that updates will probably be slowing down a bit.

I'm in a good situation overall, and lucky to live in a country where the quarantine is quite successful. However, I have a lot going on with extra work, isolation, and major disruptions to my routine. It would be churlish to complain too much when I know others who've lost so much more than me. So let me repeat, I'm doing well, and still excited about this story, I'm just feeling the strain at the moment.

Hope you all stay safe, see you on the other side of this mess!


	9. For the Sake of One Good Man

A few moments of silence greeted the Avramite woman's extraordinary pronouncement. Then her male companion, casting a disapproving glance at her, said, "Please excuse her, good masters. My sister is a scholar of the Holy Writ, and her passion for quotation is often greater than her sense of decorum. She meant no offence by it."

"None taken, I'm sure," said Gaius, looking curiously from the woman to Merlin, who was staring back at the damsel as if ensorcelled by her gaze. "If anything, it was high praise. Though I wonder if Merlin can quite measure up to it." Gaius now quickly advanced to the side of the patient. "How is your father? Any change from this morning?"

"Yes, thank you, Master Gaius," replied the youth. "His fever has reduced somewhat, and your draughts have given him restful sleep. The salves you applied to his wounds are no doubt taking their effect. Your reputation is richly deserved. We are in your debt."

"Nonsense. My physick is still in its infancy beside the skills of your people. That you are reduced to relying on my cures is a travesty. If only more of you had come, and with more of your skills besides finance. Had the late king heeded my request and opened our gates to you, instead of driving you away like so many others, we could have made enormous strides in the healing arts. Perhaps the king himself would yet live today.

"Well, perhaps we can start making up for lost time now. Merlin, where are your manners? Come here." To the others, Gaius added, "This is my charge, Merlin."

"Perhaps, Master," the woman interjected, "your ward would be more comfortable standing apart from us, as he did in the cathedral this morning."

"Devra!" hissed her brother, as Merlin flushed in embarrassment, and opened his mouth to stammer a reply.

"I… I did not mean-" he began.

"Nay, sir," the woman said, "it was a mere jest. Anyone could see there was no malice in your actions. You stood nearer us than anyone else, not quite with us, and not quite with the others. A man who takes such pains to stand alone, belonging nowhere himself, cannot be charged with shunning anyone else."

"Devra, still your tongue," said her brother sharply. "This is the royal herald of Camelot, and not a slack-jawed peasant you can speak out of turn to." To Merlin, he added, "Once again, I crave your pardon, Master Merlin. Pray allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Elam, an assistant to my father Japheth, a merchant. You have already had the ill fortune of meeting my sister, Devra."

Merlin would not have guessed the pair were siblings by appearances. Elam was ruddy of complexion, with a shock of brown, almost auburn hair, and an open, laughing face. His sister was darker, with hair like shining black silk peeking from beneath her veil, and a sterner look in her eyes. Her skin was cream-gold, and she had an air of defiance and energy about her, which unsettled Merlin, and which he suspected had not won her friends among her people's persecutors.

The Beyn Avrami were said to be distinguishable from others in Camelot by their features, but Merlin would not have known Elam or Devra from anyone else apart from their dress and yellow badges. People said that all Eireians were redheads, that the Norsemen and Saxons were blonde as the midwinter sun, and that the Normans had dark hair and strong aquiline features, for they came from the Gallic south, which been occupied by Pallantium for longer than Brython. In the same manner, people said that darker hair, skin and eyes betrayed Beyn Avrami and Saracen ancestry, except in the case of those like Gwen and Elyan, who were descended from Libyans also brought to Brython by Pallantium.

While there might have been some truth in these generalisations, there was so much diversity within each people, that physical features alone could not reliably distinguish between them. For that very reason, the Church had passed decrees requiring those outside the Faith to mark themselves with peculiar modes of dress, so that unbelievers could not mix with and influence the Nazarins so freely.

It had not always been so. The Church had adopted a more liberal attitude in certain periods. The Saracens and Beyn Avrami were respected for their knowledge, for they alone had preserved many of the old Grecian texts that had disappeared with the collapse of Pallantium. Many learned churchmen had studied Oriental languages to translate the vast bodies of Saracen and Avramite literature into Italic. Saracen scholars such as Avicenna were so prized as guides to the writings of the Grecian philosophers, that they were reverentially known to monks and abbots by titles like 'the Commentator.'

However, things had changed with the last Crusade. The Church had been desperate to reclaim the Holy Land, yet the Nazarins had been fought to a bitter standstill by the Saracens, with the unfortunate Avramites caught between the two larger powers. As the Church had marched her people into the East, the Orientals had come the other way, and a fresh tide of Avramites and Saracens had settled in the Western kingdoms, bolstering those communities which had lived there from distant ages.

The Church had grown suspicious of the rising Oriental influence within the Western lands. Fighting the Saracens required a united front within the West, and the Faith could not be weakened from within. Too many Beyn Avrami had risen to power, and intermarriage between Nazarins and non-believers had become too common for the Church's comfort.

So Holy Pontifex Innocent IV had passed decrees commanding non-believers to live apart from the Nazarins. Infidels were to be sequestered in one quarter of each Nazarin city, and it became compulsory for Avramites and pagans to wear badges as marks of their faithlessness at all times. The Nazarin nobles, impoverished from wars and crusades, eagerly fell on the Beyn Avrami, depriving them of their wealth, and shepherding them into slums, now with the sanction of the Church. Fallen from their once respected status, driven from kingdom to kingdom, sometimes tolerated for their usefulness but always now treated as despised slaves, the Avramites and other Easterners had clung on in Camelot despite many efforts to dislodge them. Yet their reputation for learning still commanded them respect in some high places, not least from men like Gaius.

Merlin now bowed his head to the siblings politely. "Is your father ill?" he asked, as much to change the subject as out of concern.

"Yes," replied Elam. "He has suffered this affliction for many years. A wasting sickness that none can cure. In his youth he lived far to the south, in Iberia, where both climate and politics were kinder to his constitution. But misfortune drove him north into Gaul, and adventure drove him further still, across the sea into Angleterre. The winters are cold here, and the hearts of the Nazarins yet colder."

"Father went to Norman Brython, you mean, dear brother," Devra said. "Better not to call the eastlands, 'Angleterre,' in front of these good Cambricmen. It is all Brython to them, even where Norman princes rule, and I have not yet recovered from the assault we received this morning, so I'd sooner not provoke them."

"Merlin and I are not such brutes, to treat you so cruelly," said Gaius. "I must apologise for my countrymen. I would say this is unlike them, but given the violence I've seen in this city in my lifetime, I now believe even the gentlest men have savagery lurking in their hearts, waiting to be awakened. As for disputes over what the lands are called, I cannot say I care overmuch. The land knows what she is and will recognise her true king, whatever name she is called by."

"The land knows?" replied Devra. "An intriguing argument, redolent of Druidism. Though the Druids would say that language is important, and that to name a thing is to capture its true nature. I have read that sorcerers use incantations to cast spells, because language is so powerful that merely changing the Name of a thing can alter its being."

Merlin thought Devra's eyes flashed towards him for a moment, and the memory of being called "Emrys," time and again, naming him for that unwanted destiny, forcibly arose.

"Nor do you have to plead the kindness of your countrymen before us, Master Gaius," Devra continued. "We were protected by two knights, and the same Sir Elyan who contacted you on our behalf, also negotiated our release from the sheriff. He even offered the bail-price, that we might be free to tend to our father until our trial comes. For witchcraft." She scoffed bitterly.

"You are charged with witchcraft?" Merlin asked. "Merely for being Avramites? I thought these abuses of the law had stopped under King Arthur."

"They had decreased. Your king introduced punishments for spurious uses of the law. But he also allowed our people to exit the Avramite quarter, and increased his reliance on our trade. He banned the slaughter of Druids and allowed the merchant guilds to grow almost as powerful as the noble houses. These are unsettled times, and when people are unsure of their status, they default to what they've always known, which is reminding the outsider of his place."

"That is horrible," said Merlin.

"Perhaps it is my fault, too. I persuaded Father to let us celebrate the Pesach openly. The sight of lamb's blood in a Nazarin neighbourhood was likely to provoke fear."

"Your Pesach fell this week?" asked Merlin. "And your neighbours objected to it? There could be no celebration of our Easter without it. The Church teaches that her own Passover falls this season, when God offered His firstborn Son as a sacrifice to avert the Death of all mankind. The concept is entirely lifted from your faith."

"Perhaps," said Devra, "but few in this city are learned enough to know that. And to us, the significance is different. Our sacrifice is that of a literal lamb, and the Death averted is the punishment God sent to our enemies. He demanded the deaths of the firstborn sons in all the land, as payment for our bondage. Only death can pay for sin."

A sudden fear gripped Merlin. "God help us!" he said. "Your people are still oppressed, along with the Druids and countless others. And in this analogy, Aegypt is Camelot. And that makes Pharaoh the late King Uther, and Arthur is his firstborn son! If so, what calamity will befall us, if your God demands a reckoning for the sins of the Pendragons?"

Devra smiled. "I would not worry overmuch," she said drily, "for my people have been afflicted by every king in Nazardom, and none have fallen. Our God has not seen us suffer enough yet, and He will not stir to help us. But we remember His ways, even if He does not care to remember us."

"Who says he does not remember you?" said Merlin bitterly. "In the years since I began serving Arthur, he has almost been killed countless times. The kingdom has been afflicted by plagues, dragons, mercenaries and enemy kings. What if the Archbishop is right, and this is a punishment for our impiety?"

"What if he is right? Arthur yet lives, despite the many attempts on his life, presumably, in no small part, because you were with him. If some higher power is seeking to take Arthur's life, would you take his place, as his scapegoat, to protect him?"

"Yes. A thousand times, yes."

"Then it seems he already has the best protection he could wish. The Archbishop mentioned the destruction of Sodom in his sermon this morning, but he neglected to mention that God was willing to spare the city of sinners, if one good man could be found within it."

"You would be hard pressed to find one good man within Camelot."

"On the contrary, I am looking directly at one."

"I don't know what you have heard about me, Mistress, but I am not what you think. I believed that Arthur's rule would usher in Camelot's Golden Age. I believe he is a good man, but I have failed to help him become the ruler he was destined to be. I have spent years in this city, and it has not changed a bit. You must think me weak for failing thus."

"Master Merlin, how long have you been at Arthur's side?"

"Over five years!"

"Over five years, and the kingdom of his destiny has not risen. Do you know how long _my _people have waited for the restoration of our kingdom? It has been millenia with no reply from Heaven, yet we cling to our prophets. So, no, Master, I do not think it weakness to have faith, however vain it may seem. Sorcerers were expelled from Camelot two decades ago, but my kindred have been expelled from their homeland a hundred times as long. Still we remember the promise made to our fathers.

"But you are fortunate, Merlin! Your kingdom still exists, and you have a seat beside your king! You do not have to passively accept your fall and wait a thousand years for redemption. You can act now, and avert whatever catastrophe your people have blindly wandered towards like sheep!

"If you believe in Arthur, go unto him, counsel him and strengthen his arm! Be his herald! Turn him away from destruction and shepherd him towards his destiny! Only do not falter, or doubt yourself. You _are _whispered about in this kingdom for a reason. If you believe a higher power is at play, then you must believe you were raised up for a reason. You have it within you to lead us all out of the wilderness."

Merlin did not understand why this stranger who barely knew him should have such faith in him, but he was strongly affected by her words. "Thank you for your counsel," he said. "You have offered me some sorely needed perspective. I am fortunate to be well-placed to change things. And, for what it's worth, I shall speak to the king about your trial. He has the right to hear such charges himself, before they are transferred before the Church, where you would receive less sympathy. I know he is a fair man, and I shall put in a word with him for you."

Devra inclined her head in thanks.

As the pair had been speaking, Gaius and Elam had been examining the prone figure of Japheth, and conversing in low tones. Snatches of their conversation had drifted to Merlin, concerning the correct theories of the humours, the roles of the stars in influencing the organs, the structure of the nerves and veins, and the virtues of various herbs. Elam had pulled out a scroll of parchment and some ink, and begun scribbling down Gaius' replies to his questions, for despite living in Camelot for several years, the youth was still unused to some of the wild plants and flowers that grew in the kingdom, having been brought up on healing lore developed in more southern climes.

At last, having satisfied himself that the patient was recovering, Gaius bid farewell to the young man and woman, and gestured for Merlin to follow him. Before Merlin left, Devra said to him rather formally, "May your light ever shine, and the Lord go with you."

Merlin stopped and turned. "You're the second person to wish me that in two hours," he said. "And I suppose I need all the help I can get. Though I doubt your Lord will concern himself with me, since I am a stranger to your ways."

"Nay, do not say that, Merlin," answered Devra. "He does not despise the stranger, for his children were strangers in Aegypt. Indeed, we are still."

As Merlin walked away, the two siblings settled back down on either side of their father. Devra reached out and placed her hand on Japheth's brow, smoothing back his grey hair.


	10. The Killing Season

Around the large replica of the Round Table were seated Arthur and his principal lords. A war map, with tokens representing various forces, occupied the table's centre. The meeting had stretched on for most of the morning, and the mood was grim.

"Our intelligence in the eastlands is conclusive," said Lord Gow. "The Normans and Saxons are massing their forces. They spent a full three years depleting their strength against each other, but last winter gave each of them a respite. Peace will not last long."

"And you fear they will march on you," said Arthur.

"We are the obvious target," Lord Broderick put in. "The Normans are superior warriors on land, and they have pushed the Saxons further and further into the North. Eventually they will annihilate the Saxons completely, though it will take generations.

"The Saxons have secured aid from their cousins the Danes, across the Frozen Sea. Even Norman chevaliers, with their lances and war-chargers, are given pause when fighting Dane berserkers in the freezing northlands." Lord Broderick here moved some axe tokens, representing the Dane mercenaries, into the northlands to join the Saxon armies, symbolised by wyverns. "But the Normans also hold parts of Gaul, across the Channel, from which they draw fresh knights even now." Norman lions were moved across the sea and added to those already in the southeast of Brython. "Both kingdoms have the advantage of overseas lands to replenish their strength from."

"An advantage we lack," said Lord Gow. "Which is why either kingdom might find us a softer target. The Saxons have lusted after Cambria since their forefathers landed in Brython. They consider our whole island theirs. And they might have taken it, had the Normans not driven them into the North first."

"But the Normans have not succeeded in taking Camelot for decades," Arthur put in. "My father said that they could win small battles against us, but never the war, for they would be defeated by the land, like the Saxons before them. Is there fresh cause to fear them now?"

"Your father," said Lord Broderick, "God rest his soul, was a brilliant strategist in his prime, but he never paid sufficient attention to the borderlands. He spent his twilight years hunting down bogeymen and village herb-wives in his own backyard, instead of observing how the Norman threat had shifted. The Norman king Richard, who styles himself _Coeur de Lion, _is not his ancestor William the Bastard. The Normans have learnt to think like Brythons after decades of living on our land.

"It is true that our eastern terrains slow the advance of foreign troops. The Norman strength lies in their massed knights. Our dense woodlands and steep hills give chevaliers no room to form a line or charge. Yet the Norman barons have learnt how to navigate our woods, and to tear up with steel and fire whatever impedes them. They have the patience to play the long game, and once they advance, they set up immovable stone fortresses. They push forward slowly, but the land they take is never won back, and the border creeps westward year by year. We are going into extinction like the Saxons, though less swiftly.

"Further, the Norman fleets have grown in size. Their sailcraft may not rival the Saxons' yet, but they have scores of galleys and transport ships. Presently those ships only move horses, knights and infantry across the Channel into Angland, where they are marched north to hold the line against the Saxons. But there is no reason those ships could not land on our coasts, and unload hundreds of warriors on our shores."

There was a sombre silence.

"This is intolerable," said Lord Meredith. "Normans to the east and south. Saxons and Vykings in the north. Raiders from Eireland and Alba on the west. Are we wholly friendless? In the past we had aid from King Fion of Alba, or King Niall of Eire."

"There will be no aid from Alba," said Arthur. "There is civil war between their clans. And some of their wilder tribes are making war on the north of Eire, so King Niall will lend no aid while his own soil is under attack."

"That is not the only reason," said Lord Broderick. "Uther cut off his alliance with King Niall. I always thought that a hasty move."

"Eireian raiders were harrying our coasts, and King Niall was not restraining them," said Arthur.

"A small price to pay for the support of a large kingdom."

"What, so my father should have left the western coasts open to assault?"

"These were small raiding parties," said Lord Broderick. "Pirates are part of the natural hazards of living on the coastland. These were nothing like the size of lords' armies. Such as those Norman armies, for example, which your father abandoned the eastern marches to fight off for years, while he played dragonslayer and witch-finder."

Arthur exhaled and drew some slips of parchment towards him. "So it comes back to this," he said. "You have made increasingly strident demands for coin and swords over the years since I became king, Lord Broderick. I can see you feel that my father should have lent you more soldiers."

"That would be too little, too late," rejoined Lord Broderick. "I would rather you did what you hinted at earlier, sire, and rode to the eastern front with us. It would do you good to see with your own eyes what your father never cared to see. Now is the season for war, as our enemies well understand. This month was named March by the Palatines, after their God of War. We may no longer believe in Mars or the war-gods, but our forebears were correct that the melting of the snows heralds the best season for soldiers to march. We should take advantage of this time and mobilise our forces."

Lord Penrose, who was pious, said, "I wish you wouldn't invoke the pagan gods, my lord. The Church teaches that Easter is a time for the rebirth of life."

"Yes," countered Lord Broderick, "but unless I mistake my lessons, my lord, the Church teaches that even God could only renew life by paying for it with death. How much truer is that for a mortal king? Arthur pretends to the throne of Brython, and he should seize his birthright, but it is blood that will pay for the rebirth of Camelot."

"A fair point," said Lord Penrose. "And after all, the Scripture says that to every thing there is a season. A time of war and a time of peace. A time to kill and a time to heal."

"A time to be born, and a time to die," said Lord Broderick, his eyes lingering on Arthur's face. "But I care not what books you quote, so long as I get my men, and we strike against our enemies first. I will not suffer to be slowly strangled by the Normans, or live in fear of being taken by surprise by them, as King Uther condemned us to endure for twenty years."

"I am happy to ride wherever my earls think I'm needed," said Arthur. "And touching the subject of raising armies, we have negotiated several trade contracts to ease the pressure on our treasury. We shall have the coin to field whatever soldiers you require. But I see from these ledgers that the marcher earldoms have reduced their tax payments several times over the past few years."

"An unfortunate necessity, my lord," said Lord Broderick. "When your father refused to send us the support needed to defend our lands, we had to raise and arm the extra men ourselves. That meant withholding some of our revenues. We thought it preferable to losing Camelot's territories."

"I see," said Arthur. "And does Lord Broderick speak for all you marcher lords in this?"

"He does, sire," said Lord Gow. "Though I would add another concern. Your grip on the capital has not been as firm as one might have liked, of late. We were loath to send our grain and coin to be merely burned by dragons or seized by enemy kings. Had we been sure of some security in the capital, we might have felt safer despatching the resources we so sorely needed ourselves."

"An interesting pretext for withholding tribute," Arthur said. "And I mislike your tone. The security of the citadel was effectively overseen. The castle fell because we faced extraordinary foes. Lady Morgana and the forces of the Old Religion have arrayed themselves against us for some time."

"Forgive us, sire," said Lord Broderick, "but we have managed to hold our lands against the combined might of the Normans and Saxons for many years. It is difficult for us to understand how a girl barely out of petticoats, and an army of old spell-wives, should bring such a powerful kingdom to her knees. A single invasion may be regarded as a misfortune, but to lose the capital three times in as many years is unlikely to invite confidence in one's statecraft. To harbour a sorceress and traitorous advisor in the heart of the citadel was blind folly. To keep a dragon enslaved as a pet, thinking it could be controlled, was sheer arrogance on Uther's part. We have not even touched how the late king was mortally wounded by an assassin in his own keep, and finished off by a sorcerer."

"Have a care, my lord," Arthur said. "My father was not perfect, and we undoubtedly made our share of mistakes. Nevertheless, he was a good man, and a good king."

"You need not defend your father to us," said Lord Gow. "We remember the days of our youth, when he rode with us as a brother-in-arms, and was the best knight of us all."

"And we remember when he changed, also," said Lord Broderick. "He was not the same man after your mother charmed him. That woman took possession of his heart so completely, he turned on his own sworn man, the Duke of Cornwall, and slaughtered many good knights to reach her. And it was all for naught, for she perished soon after. It was after her death, and your birth, that he turned his attention inward, losing sight of his ambitions for his kingdom, and succumbed to the witch-mania. That pained us all.

"But there is no doubt something of his younger self in you. That is why you should ride to our borders. It will be good for you to prove your skills in true battle, where men can see you. Living sequestered in a court is no place for a man. It is easy to be seduced by Norman nonsense, and romantic tales about chivalry. It is not swanning about in silks and questing for the hands of fainting women that makes a knight. A true knight is forged in blood, and it is the respect of his fellow men that he fights for, not for the songs of foppish bards, or the whims of wenches who sigh over poetry."

"I do not need lessons on manliness from you, my lord," Arthur said. "My father taught me well. Ask any of your sons who are my squires and pages what lessons they have learnt from me. Try them in swordcraft yourselves. I guarantee even the youngest will overthrow you."

"I am glad to hear it," replied Lord Broderick. "And I have already examined the sons we entrusted to your father as squires, and I am pleased to see what you have taught them. I half-feared you would teach them to prattle Norman love-poems, adorn themselves with silk tassels and jewels, and bear your wine-cups in the Grecian fashion. I am pleased some of Uther's steel and fire lives on in you, though many say there was more of your mother than he in your making.

"However, perhaps your father taught you a little too well. Uther was not renowned for his wisdom in love-making, nor in managing a household. We all know his lust for your mother led to rash and bloody war, but not even he would have stooped to court a serving-girl."

Colour began to rise in Arthur's face. "I have not courted Guinevere, sir."

"You have done so in all but name," put in Lord Gow. "We do not want our sons, who we sent to study at your feet, to learn that sullying their bloodlines through union with the lowborn is a noble act."

"Indeed," said Lord Broderick. "Uther became rash in his later years. Something changed him after he met your mother, as I say. He should have produced more children. He should have set up a match for you long before his demise. We earls have loved and nurtured our older sons and daughters. We have made good marriages for them. We have sons your age who are tied by wedlock to powerful families throughout Albion. Each of them is young, strong, and able to call on armies and allegiances many times greater than that provided by their own inheritance.

"And what of you, Arthur? Who shall you call in your hour of need? What has your father left you with? No trueborn siblings. No loyal uncles or cousins. No marriage alliance. You are the single heir to this entire kingdom, and what should happen to the Pendragon bloodline if you fall? You stand alone. You are the last dragon. Much as the beast Uther kept prisoner under this palace, you are the last of your kind. Your father also kept you in chains, as another pet to amuse him and bind to his will. I am offering you a chance to spread your wings. Come to the eastern front."

"You go too far, my lords," said Arthur quietly. "You presume too much."

"It is only out of love, and loyalty to my sovereign, that I speak," said Lord Broderick. "These are words your father would have spoken to you, had he not become unsteady in his dotage."

"And is your lecture quite finished, my lords?" Arthur asked. "I do have other business to attend to."

"Does this involve your herald, Merlin, by any chance?" asked Lord Gow sharply. "The lad is unnaturally close to you for a servant."

"Merlin is not here," said Arthur. "He is away from the city on an errand for me."

"Good," said Lord Gow. "Keep it that way. The less his corrupting influence is around you, the better. I thought you'd have learnt from Morgana and Agravaine how careful a king must be in the company he keeps, sire. We are here to guide you now. The Norman threat will require us all to unite from within. Fishwives, serving wenches and stable boys will not give you sufficient counsel to repel the invaders. Surround yourself with the right allies, sire."

"Merlin," said Arthur hotly, "is not Morgana or Agravaine. He has been loyal to me from the very beginning. He has never shirked in his duty to me."

"My dog is loyal to me," said Lord Broderick, "but he does not sleep in my bed. I give him the best place by the fire, the choicest scraps from the table, but he lives in the kennel with the other hounds. I do not knight him, or put him on my small council. If I lay down with him I would catch his fleas."

"You are of king's blood," said Lord Penrose. "Comport yourself as such. Let us be your guides now, sire. You are amongst your own kind. Now, regarding the movements of the Normans…"

As the lords continued discussing their military strategy, Arthur wondered why, if he were among his own kind, he had never felt so alone, nor missed Merlin so much.


	11. Sheathed Blades, Sharpened Tongues

_The history hitherto:_

Arthur has summoned his vassals to the capital. It is March, once the beginning of the Palatine calendar, and the season of war and springtime. The Earls of Cambria have waxed wroth over Arthur's elevation of commoners. Many factions within the Church, and the noble houses, perceive Arthur's reforms as unpopular, and his power base as unsteady. They view him as vulnerable.

Greater military activity in the kingdoms of the Normans and Saxons means Arthur must act soon to put his vassals at ease.

* * *

_Named cast_

_Nobles._

Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.

Queen Annis of Caerleon, ruler of a domain on the eastern marches of Cambria. She equals an earl in power and influence. Yet she retains the inflated title of Queen, rather than Countess, as her kingdom presently remains independent of Camelot.

Earl Broderick of Brecknock, a powerful marcher lord. The earls of the marches have raised mighty armies to guard against eastern invaders. They are the most influential and independent of all the earls. Many resent their liege lords, the Pendragon kings, for alleged indolence and neglect of the outlying territories.

Lady Bronwyn, daughter of Earl Broderick.

Lady Egefride, daughter of Earl Gow of Montgomery.

Sirs Elyan, Leon and Percival, Knights of the Round Table.

Lady Guinevere Fairforge, a new-made baroness.

_Sundry Worthies._

Master Gaius, court physician.

His Grace Raimund de Croismere, Archbishop of Camelot.

_Servants._

George, a manservant to the king.

* * *

_Sheathed Blades, Sharpened Tongues_

It was the final day of the Easter festivities, and the great hall of the Citadel now played host to a king's banquet. The splendid gold and scarlet banners of House Pendragon were draped everywhere, with smaller flags representing the visiting Houses suspended beneath them. The King of Camelot and his guests of honour were seated on the raised dais at the head of the room, while the remaining guests took their repast on the lower level.

In contrast with its grand Norman architecture, the interior of the great hall still featured a pressed dirt floor covered in rushes, like that of a Saxon longhall. Fortunately, the traditional fire-pit in the centre of the room had been replaced by smaller fireplaces along one wall, which were ventilated. Arthur had been in real longhalls before, and the Saxon penchant for roasting huge animal carcasses on open fires, combined with their lack of chimneys, made for some oppressively smoky interiors.

It was not the layout of the room alone that had benefitted from the Pendragons' policy of Normanisation. The cuisine of the Cambric nobles had also become more refined over time. The nobility in Cambria had always enjoyed meals of better quality than that of the commons, but in the past their food had not been very different, in preparation, from the peasants' fare. On the continent, however, the lavish wealth of the Frankish kings had allowed cookery to evolve into a decadent art form. These Gallic delicacies had been spread to Albion by the Normans, and were now enjoyed by nobles of all the kingdoms. An army of pages ferried these elaborate dishes into the hall and set them before the guests, to general approval.

Soft strains of music drifted above the assembly, as minstrels and bards moved around the tables. The people of Camelot were as welcoming of foreign musicians as they were of outlander cooks, and the native folk tunes of Cambria now mingled with lusty Anglish war songs and intricate Gallic ballads.

Arthur listened as a young man in the livery of the Heralds plucked a romantic lay on his lute, while around him a group of damsels giggled and voiced their appreciation. Had Merlin not been away on a mission, he would have started additional training with the Heralds by now. Eventually that would include songcraft, and it amused Arthur to think that Merlin would soon literally be singing his praises.

The reverence that the people of Albion had for music was reflected in their languages. Music was considered so potent, so capable of charming the heart, that the names for it in the common tongue were closely related to the terms for sorcery. Merlin had once explained to Arthur that the Normans called sorcerers "enchanters," which came from their word _chanter, _to sing. The Saxon words for magic were _drycraft, _or "druidcraft," and _galecraft_, meaning "songcraft." The Saxons, too, had recognised that musicians had the power to bewitch the human soul, which was why bards were held in such high esteem by them.

Arthur had often wondered how Merlin was so capable of remembering the things he read in Gaius' ancient scrolls, when he was otherwise so absent-minded and incapable of paying attention. The youth would sometimes produce astonishing pearls of wisdom in between spouting his customary prattle, and Arthur had learnt to listen much more closely to his servant than he let on.

Meditating on the link between music and magic caused Arthur to remember the day Merlin had first entered his service. That murderous sorceress, disguised as Helen of Mora, had shown the court firsthand how spells could be woven into songs, putting them all to sleep in this very hall. Merlin had saved Arthur's life that day, despite the bad blood between them, for the boy had been unthinkingly compassionate to others, a quality which had brought him into conflict with Arthur in the first place. From that day they had been bound to each other against their will.

It was fitting, in a way, that Merlin's role as Arthur's manservant should be ended by his elevation to a musical post, for it was a siren's song that had first brought them together. And one day soon, perhaps, Camelot would see a day where sorceresses like Mary Collins would have no more cause to raise their hands against Arthur. Uther's son would reform the laws that had condemned Mary's son to die.

Arthur wondered how Merlin was faring now. He had been sent into the lion's den on Arthur's behalf, with almost no protection. It pained Arthur to put Merlin in harm's way, though he had to admit that Merlin had an uncanny gift for surviving the most perilous situations. And given the current situation in Camelot, perhaps Merlin was in less danger among the heathen Druids than he would be among the highborn princes of Cambria.

Merlin's instincts about the earls had been right. As a commoner, he viewed all noblemen as a vague threat, while Arthur had been taken in by the deference the Cambric lords had shown his father when he'd yet lived. The earls had correctly surmised that the capital's war against sorcerers, and the invasions she'd suffered, had bled her of coin, troops and defences. Arthur's position was weakened, and as a young king with no heir, who'd broken with tradition on several occasions, he was viewed by the nobles and the Church alike as an exposed target.

He still had many loyal knights, but countless of his most faithful men-at-arms had perished fighting dragons, undying soldiers, and Druid renegades. Many of the warriors who'd taken their place were foreigners, hired swords, or fresh blood with no strong ties of affection to the king. They could be relied upon so long as the winds were fair, but they would fall away if Arthur's position was threatened.

_I will not allow that to happen, _Arthur thought. _I will not lose the kingdom my father built for me. Everyone will learn that the young dragon also breathes fire when provoked._

Arthur had taken Gaius aside two days earlier and shared his concerns.

"I need loyal knights and lords around me, Gaius. The earls see the balance of power has shifted, and I cannot trust them until I'm strong enough to enforce my sovereignty. You know the men who fought alongside my father in his youth. You know of the kin my mother has among the Saxons and the Normans. Send ravens to them, any of them you deem trustworthy. Tell them I have need of them."

"Is this wise, sire?" Gaius had said. "Agravaine was kin to your mother also. By law and nature he should have loved you, but he nursed treachery in his heart."

"Treachery you and Merlin were wise enough to discover immediately. I'm not so big a fool as to ignore your counsel yet again. Choose only men you believe to be safe. And have Merlin keep an eye on them when he returns. Nothing gets past that lad, except finding tunics that fit, apparently."

"Another concern occurs to me, sire. Your mother has kin in Cambria, but her most powerful relations are in Angland. If you invite Saxon and Norman swordsmen into your kingdom, they may perceive your domain as weak and divided, and they will have their own agendas."

"We _are _weak and divided, Gaius. I'm not asking you to invite Richard the Lionheart to take over my kingdom. Find individual lords and knights who are powerful enough to be of use, but pliable enough to be controlled. Many kingdoms rely on foreign mercenaries. At this stage I'll take strangers who will serve me over my sworn vassals who would see me hobbled."

Though it angered him to be baited by the earls, tonight Arthur had decided to deflect their wrath by not seating Guinevere beside him. He did not heed Gaius' suggestion, however, and put one of the earl's daughters next to him in Gwen's place. Looking for a compromise that would provide the least pretext for offence, he had chosen Queen Annis of Caerleon, who had travelled west for the festivities. Arthur had no female relatives in the capital, and by custom there must be a lady to sit beside the lord of the hall. The lord and lady were, by ancient tradition of Albion, the "keepers of the bread," assuming responsibility for feeding their guests, presiding over their feasting, and extending shelter and hospitality to any who entered the feasting hall.

Arthur brooded now, wondering how he could be bound to shelter men who clearly intended him ill. Custom enjoined the nobles to engage civilly with each other in a lord's hall, to leave their weapons aside, and to remain subject to the king's peace so long as they were his guests. But even as their blades were sheathed, Arthur wondered what dark motives were concealed within their breasts. He wondered if being surrounded by such people had made his father as brutal and suspicious as he'd become in his final years.

"You throw a fine feast, my lord," said Queen Annis. "I am pleased to see how the kingdom has flourished under your rule. Though you are less talkative than I remember."

"Forgive me, my lady," Arthur replied. "Matters of state weigh heavily on my mind. I am normally better company."

"I was most intrigued to see your Fool elevated to the position of Royal Herald. A somewhat unorthodox choice."

"In the past I've had fools for councillors and learned men for fools. I thought it time they switched places."

"Well spoken. I see a great many things are switching places in your kingdom. I can't imagine it's to everyone's liking."

"Is it to your liking, my lady?"

Queen Annis gave him an assessing look. "I cannot say I'd have made all the choices you have, but I do like what I've seen so far. Without disrespect to your father, it was past time for a new way of doing things."

"And have you given any thought to my father's proposition, my lady?"

"That Caerleon should swear fealty to Camelot? The prospect has occupied my mind for some time. My people value their independence, yet we mislike being caught between you on the west, the Normans on the east, and your marcher lords all around us."

"Surely you have no quarrel with the marcher lords? Do you not see them as a buffer against the Normans?"

"We see them raising armies, with the expressed purpose of protecting their territories, yet it does not sit well with us. Men of war are restless in times of peace. An army must have something to occupy itself, and if it cannot harry the Normans, it may turn on easier prey."

"You cannot think they would march on Caerleon? My father pressed his claim to your kingdom for years, but you and I signed a treaty that respected your borders. I resolved that if you should join us, it must be through peaceful means."

"There can always be some pretext found. For example, that our land gives them a strategic position against the Normans, or that they need access to our trade routes and supplies, or that they are accomplishing your father's will and restoring the unity of the Cambric lands. Do not be so sure of your ability to restrain them. Earls are hardened by years of war, and there is little that will check their actions but bloody force. But we should speak more of this anon, in private."

At that moment, one of the servants, George, drew near to refill Arthur's goblet. As he did so, he murmured in Arthur's ear, "Lady Bronwyn's handmaid has approached me, sire, and intimated that it would not be averse to her mistress if you were to ask her ladyship for a dance this evening."

Arthur could not entirely resist grimacing. "This is Lord Broderick's daughter, yes?" he asked in a low voice.

"The very same, sire."

"I am sure Lord Broderick would be pleased by such a gesture," said Queen Annis.

"I'm sure he would," Arthur agreed. Then, in George's ear, he added, "Kindly intimate to her ladyship that I would sooner drag my sister Morgana Le Fay around this chamber than take her ladyship's carcass for a spin. You can put that in more diplomatic language if you please."

"… as you say, sire," replied George, withdrawing as Queen Annis snorted into her winecup.

Around the westernmost table in the hall, the knights were enjoying the king's hospitality.

"Good gods, where did Arthur get the coin to put on this spread?" said Percival. "I know his barons aren't paying for it."

"Look at this," said Elyan, almost weeping, with four tankards before him. "Frankish wine. Red, white, yellow and green. Green! When we send the Normans back across the Channel, we should ask for their winemakers in exchange."

"You're missing the good stuff, Elyan," said Leon. "Too busy drinking to enjoy the food. Look!" An assortment of meat pies, crusts flaky and perfectly moist, lay before Sir Leon, beside a leg of lamb steeped in plum sauce and honey, skewers of glazed poultry, and some sliced salmon drizzled with citron.

"Pass me that leg of swine, Elyan, if you don't want it," put in Percival.

"It's not called swine after it's cooked, you ignorant churl," said Elyan, draining the second cup. "They all get Norman names after they're butchered and dressed. You have to call swine _le pork. _And cow becomes _le beef. _And fowl is _poultry._"

"Is it pork if it's a leg?" asked Leon, between mouthfuls. "I thought it was called _ham_. Or is it _bacon_? Oh, no, that's preserved. What's a _jambon?_"

"I don't think the pig much cares," said Percival, relieving Elyan of the leg of the poor beast, which was honoured with so many names, because so many of the peoples of Albion wanted to eat its flesh a hundred different ways.

"You can't swill that wine like cheap tavern ale, Elyan," Leon persisted. "They all have vintages, you know. They've been aged specially. You're meant to savour them with the correct dishes."

"Pardon me, your highness," said Elyan dismissively. Then, catching the eye of the comely serving girl who was returning to their table, he said, "Another cup, mistress!"

As the lass refilled Elyan's cups, she cast an eye over the knights and said, "Where's the handsome knight? Sir Gawaine? I hoped he'd be at the feast today, good sirs."

"He's away on the king's business," replied Percival, between mouthfuls of what he stubbornly thought of as swine. "He'll be kicking himself when he learns what he's missed."

"What do you mean, _the _handsome knight?" said Elyan. "There are other comely knights in Camelot."

"Truly?" replied the serving girl. "Well, if you find any, let me know. Good evening, Sir Knights." She tossed her shining black braid of hair and went on her way.

On the other side of the hall sat the younger ladies, and Guinevere was now taking her place among them, after a brief interlude spent speaking with Gaius. Lady Bronwyn caught sight of Guinevere's approach and raised her winecup.

"Another goblet, and quickly," she said imperiously.

Gwen flushed. "I am sure one of the servants will be happy to refill your cup, my lady," she replied.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," said Bronwyn sweetly. "I thought I knew all the ladies of the court." Bronwyn was in a foul mood after learning that the king had refused to dance with her, compounding the insult of choosing to make that old hag, the Widow of Caerleon, the lady of the banquet.

"What an interesting choice of costume, my dear," Bronwyn continued, as Guinevere took her seat. Gwen's simple satin gown contrasted starkly with the habiliments of Bronwyn and Egefride, who had badgered their fathers into hiring Norman tailors. Their elaborately coiffed hair, and extravagant dresses overwrought with lace and furs, would not have looked out of place in the most _outré_ parlours of the Gallic comtesses.

"Is this what ladies are wearing in the capital nowadays?" asked Egefride, looking over Guinevere. "How fascinating. I believe my grand-dame owns something similar."

"It looks good on _you_, dear," Bronwyn said. "Some women can pull off the antiquated style. Though you may wish to follow the fashions of the larger courts. People expect such things of ladies. I know the most delightful tailor - I shall have my handmaid send his boy round to take your measurements. He may require additional material."

"There is no need," said Guinevere. "I thank you for your kind offer, but some women prefer practical clothing, the better to take action, rather than merely be looked at."

"Yes, I can see why that would be the case," said Bronwyn. "But part of a lady's duty _is _to be looked at, my dear. I expect it will take some getting used to. Never mind."

Bronwyn then began loudly complaining about the castle's servants, branding them lazy, shiftless, incompetent, and beyond redemption.

"I don't know where the king finds these people," Egefride agreed. "I believe the seneschal is too soft with them. Why, at home, if any of my servants showed this level of impudence, Father would have them whipped soundly and made to sleep in the woods! They want more regular beatings to correct them. I shall have a word to the chamberlain about it."

"I'm sure they're doing their best to accommodate any reasonable request, my lady," said Gwen, her face composed, yet clouded with emotion.

"Well, I suppose you'd know better than we," said Bronwyn. "Belonging to the capital, I mean," she added a heartbeat later, as if it had not been her intention to remind everyone of Guinevere's former status. Bronwyn, like all her fellow nobles, never spoke plainly. Just as her brothers had been raised to fight with shield and cape concealing their blades, she had been raised to speak with artifice and misdirection covering her words, so that none could fully judge the direction of her feints and thrusts.

At yet another table, Gaius had been seated beside the Archbishop De Croismere and an entourage of lesser priests, an arrangement which was not entirely to the physician's liking. The food provided, however, went a considerable way towards compensating for the company.

"I say, look at this!" Gaius exclaimed, studying a glazed leg of pheasant narrowly. "Real sugar! Candied sugar from the Orient! I wondered how the Norman cooks made their dishes so sweet, without the use of honey or preserved fruits! Must cost a fortune. The king really has spared no expense. And I do believe this is truly pepper! And saffron, and cloves, and other spices I hardly recognise. Well done on your Crusade in the Holy Land, Your Grace. It's a shame you lost the Holy Tomb, but at least something good came out of our war in the East."

The habitually genial De Croismere was not impressed by Gaius' levity. "I will not be partaking of the heathen's cane-sugar, Master Gaius," he sniffed. "There is something far sweeter to come out of our war with the Saracen, which is the knowledge that our Nazarin knights have struck a blow against the unbaptised Moor.

"Yet even now, while we in Brython glut ourselves on confectionery and sweetmeats, the flag of the Holy Cross is torn down in the Levant and trampled beneath the boots of the false king Saladin. While the princes of Normandy, Camelot and Angland squabble over this island's wealth, spilling precious Nazarin blood, they ignore the march of the infidel wolves howling out of the East. Rather than indulging our baser appetites, temperance in all things is the virtue we should practice."

So saying, the Archbishop waved away the fine dishes offered him by a page, and contented himself with pastries and water. The junior priests in his retinue, with dejected expressions, followed the example of their master, their body language betraying some violent spiritual struggle.

Gaius privately reflected that it was easier for the bishops to practice temperance in public than ordinary folk, since they could later retire to monasteries with their own vineyards and game forests. It would have been impolite to say so openly, however, and probably dangerous to both soul and body.

"Where is the… Royal Herald?" asked De Croismere suddenly, somehow making the title sound as sordid as the words 'tavern wench.' "It is not like him to be apart from the king."

"I believe he is away on some errand," said Gaius.

"A mere errand? You think so? Bishop Rhodri is not in attendance, either. He left court remarkably swiftly."

"Perhaps His Grace decided to show temperance by shunning the feasting hall for his own prayer cell."

"Perhaps," said the Archbishop. In a lower tone, he added to Gaius, "I would not speak ill of my brethren, Gaius, but I have often wondered at the king's choice of spiritual advisor. There have always been irregularities in Bishop Rhodri's ministry. The founder of his order became too close to the heathens he preached to, and was corrupted by their influence. This danger forever tempts men of the cloth who pry too deeply into forbidden knowledge."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," said Gaius, "but as a scholar I cannot think it an ill thing to acquire knowledge, whatever the source."

"Then for all your scholarship, you are ignorant of this island's history, Gaius. This land has an ancient, wild magic running in its veins. The Palatines could not fully civilise it, nor could any invading force tame it. Even the churchmen of this land have been seduced by its paganism. Countless heresies have been born within its abbeys and cathedrals. Eireian abbots shave their heads in the manner of Druids, and flout the authority of the true bishops. Monks in Angland take the gospel to the people, as they should, but in translating the Good Book into the language of Beowulf, they import all manner of heathen mysticism into their interpretation of the Scripture."

Gaius replied, "Are not all versions of the Scripture translations? Some might say that translating the Gospel into the language of the Italic Church, the language that praised Jupiter, Juno and Apollo for centuries, is an act destined to introduce idolatry. I believe the Avramites, who scorn to worship graven images, say that the Church's adoration of statues, and rearing of shrines to a human being, shows the influence of Old Pallantium and Babylon in her teaching."

"You can still argue religion better than a churchman, Gaius," the Archbishop observed with some reluctant admiration. "Nevertheless, the comparison is false. Any translations done by the bishops of Pallantium were made by those properly anointed and inspired with the Holy Ghost. The priests of this island, who presume to rewrite scripture and preach new doctrines, are inspired by nothing but their own debauchery and the wild spirits of this place. See how brazenly even the gentle folk and priests of Nazardom revel in this hall, glutting their maws and drinking wine 'til they stumble from excess. This conduct, inherited from their ancestors, is no different from that practiced in a Saxon longhall, where ale-sodden warriors toast Odin and Tyw. When will they learn to practice restraint?"

"I must say, Your Grace," Gaius replied, "for one born in Brython, you have a low opinion of your homeland. Is the effect of the island's magic mere degeneration, or has the Church imbibed new life from spreading among diverse peoples? And I find it strange to be so against drinking and merry-making. It is not merely a heathen custom. Is there not an incident in which the Saviour was at a wedding feast, and at his mother's request water was changed into wine, that the revelry might continue?"

The Archbishop laughed despite himself, his face communicating that, as always, he found crossing swords with Gaius both irritating and entertaining. "I would caution you against interpreting the Holy Writ literally, Gaius. There are many debates about the significance of that miracle. Most agree it is an allegory, and St John certainly did not intend it to licence wanton drunkenness.

"And it is precisely because I love this island that I do not wish to see her stumble backwards into darkness. The savageries and bloodthirsty sacrifices of the Druidical religion are well known. Caesar records in his accounts of the Celtic Wars how Druid priests slew cattle and men alike by the knife. They even built wicker cages in which they would burn men alive as a sacrifice to their demonic gods."

"Is that heathen savagery, Your Grace? I have witnessed Mother Church burn not a few men alive. Women and children, too."

Now the Archbishop's eyes flashed. "Entirely different, Gaius. I fear you are making a habit of contradicting me. The Druids burnt men alive as sacrifices to their Triple Goddess, in exchange for occult powers. Holy Church only burns those attainted of heresy and sorcery, that their sins may be expunged in fire, their magicks dispelled, and their souls despatched to their final resting place free from the Fiend's power."

"A distinction which is no doubt of immense comfort to the victim as she perishes in the flames," said Gaius, before taking a deep draught of wine and resolving to say no more. It was not wise to goad the Archbishop, especially when one had a reputation as a scholar of the occult sciences.

Some way further down the table, a junior priest was observing with horror that two Avramite financiers were present at the feast. The pair of infidels had seated themselves as far as they could from the others, aware that many Nazarins would take offence at dining with them. Yet their mere presence was enough to excite resentment.

"Look here!" the priest said to one of his colleagues. "The king has invited the accursed Beyn Avrami to his Easter celebrations! Is this a jest? Should we break bread with the killers of the Saviour, in the very season when we celebrate His return?"

"Ah, be at peace," said the other. "The king would be beggared without their intervention. I heard he had to borrow heavily from them to remedy the old king's profligacy. They are the very reason for the richness of this spread. Can we scorn to have them at our feast, while they put food in our mouths?"

"How can you say that so blithely?" replied the first. "Does it not concern you that in all the kingdoms of Nazardom, the Avramite owns the very land beneath our feet? What was the point of Holy Father's Crusade, then? Why should our soldiers travel to the Orient to win lands from the infidel, while back at home, the very ground is purchased out from under us by these Oriental swindlers?"

But the second priest was too busy chewing on his skewers of pheasant breast to reply. Lacking the Archbishop's self-control, he admired all the sugars and spices to come out of the East, and he reasoned that as the Oriental foodstuffs were so delightful, the Oriental merchants must have their good points also.

As the night wore on, the final courses were cleared away, but drinks and desserts continued to be brought out for another hour. A warm cloud of chatter filled the hall.

Taking advantage of a lull in the proceedings, Lady Bronwyn suddenly stood up, took her winecup, and swept around the table towards an open space in the hall. Her locks of copper hair glittered in the lamplight, and her form was well displayed by her emerald gown, which delineated her youthful curves. Her charming sapphire eyes sparkled, and her smooth complexion was lent colour and boldness by heavy wine consumption. When she was satisfied that many nobles were watching her, she set her eyes on Guinevere triumphantly and raised her goblet again.

"I propose a toast," she declared, "from one lady to another. Please join me in rising and felicitating the newest and most extraordinary damsel of the court. To Lady Guinevere!"

"To Lady Guinevere!" roared many tongues, as winecups were raised and downed around the hall.

"And now," said Bronwyn, "I would have all the ladies and gentle lords quit their tables and draw close to me. Guinevere, dear! Please come hither."

Most reluctantly, conscious of all who watched her, Gwen rose with the others and closed the distance between her and Lady Bronwyn.

Turning in the direction of the nearest minstrel, Bronwyn said, "The Pavane, if you please." Then, smiling beatifically at Guinevere, she added, "Lady Guinevere! Please do us the honour of leading us in the dancing. I thought we'd begin with something simple, like the Pavane."

There was a silence. The minstrel sat poised, his fingers gently strumming the strings.

"I am afraid," said Guinevere, "that I do not know that dance, my lady."

Whispers broke out among the ladies. There were murmured comments, some of sympathy, others tinkling with barely concealed laughter.

"No matter," said Lady Bronwyn. "Name one that you do know, my dear. However simple it may be. The Couranto, perhaps? A Rondel? The Passamezzo, or Allemande? We await your request, gentle lady."

"I… do not know any of those." Guinevere's face twitched with some powerfully repressed emotion.

"Come, my lady!" said Bronwyn, a touch more harshly. "You must know something! The Lavolta?"

"The Kitchen Jig?" suggested Lady Egefride spitefully. "The Housemaid's Knee?" Peals of laughter sounded from the assembled noble damsels.

Suddenly the laughter came to a close, as King Arthur emerged from behind the ranks of the noble lords. His face was also burning, though whether from wine or anger was unclear.

"Your Highness!" said Bronwyn with wild abandon, turning on him. "How privileged are we to see you on the dancing floor! I thought you not in the mood for it. I asked myself why a lord should turn down a lady, knowing it to be an uncouth act. Then I realised you were perhaps missing your manservant Merlin. Perhaps you would have preferred him lead you in the steps? Is that why you have forgotten how to treat a lady?"

There was another silence, more chilly this time.

"I have not forgotten how to treat a lady," said Arthur coldly. "Though perhaps you have forgotten how to act like one. A noble spirit is generous. It does not humiliate those in its power. Guinevere neglected to learn dancing, as well you know. She was learning more useful skills, such as how to tend the sick and lift a sword in defence of her countrymen. You highborn maidens are noble in name and blood alone. Guinevere is noble in action, and there is more gentleness in her finger than in your entire personages."

The colour drained from Bronwyn's face, and her smile became brittle.

Arthur swiftly reached out and took Guinevere's hand, coaxing her to follow him. To the minstrel, he said, "Give us a Lavolta, master, and quickly."

"Arthur," said Guinevere helplessly.

"I will tutor you," said Arthur in her ear. "Follow the count with me. It's simple. One, bounce. Two, bounce. I lift and spin you. You kick."

"Arthur, I can't do this! I can't learn a dance-"

"Quiet, Guinevere! Don't look at anyone else. Just keep your eyes on my face. You've fought bandits. You've escaped Morgana. You stabbed a Lamia. Are these she-leopards in dresses that frightening to you? You can do this in your sleep. Now follow my lead. That's a command from your king. One, bounce. Two, bounce. Lift and spin. Kick at knee height. Good. Again."

The proceeded down the hall, Arthur murmuring encouragement, Gwen slowly relaxing as she began to trust Arthur's lead. Sirs Elyan, Percival and Leon were next, swiftly finding lady partners and following the king's example, twirling into a line after him. Soon other knights and nobles began to pair off, joining the procession. The last Guinevere saw of Bronwyn, the lady had rushed off, her face an ugly shade of purple.

The minstrel had played for a good quarter hour when Arthur deemed it safe to spin Guinevere away from the crowd. Still holding her hand, he pulled her out of the hall, up a flight of stone steps, and out onto a stone balcony under the stars. Clay pots filled with fragrant herbs threw mingled perfumes into the air.

They sat on the balustrade together, hand in hand. It had been a long time since Guinevere had seen this side of Arthur. She leaned into his embrace, resting her head against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, lips brushing her hair.

Somehow, in that moment, Guinevere remembered why she had loved Arthur. It had not been the instant infatuation she'd felt for Lancelot. It was not the fiery passion of romances that sprang up overnight between strangers. It was the slower, more comfortable bond that formed between two people who had grown up in each other's presence. She had watched Arthur mature from a cruel bully into a gallant and gentle young man. She supposed the respect and fondness she felt for him now was as good a foundation for love as any fleeting lust.

"I couldn't stand it in there, Gwen," said Arthur. "I don't understand how I grew up around those nobles. When I was a child, those lords and ladies seemed like the only real human beings to me. People like you and Merlin were just part of the furniture. I didn't even notice you existed. And now, everything has turned upside down. I miss Merlin. I want to be around you, around him. You're the only real people I know, the only people I can be myself around. When I'm with you the world feels true. Everyone else feels so fake, so suffocating. God, how can I rule a nobility I can't stand? They make me ill."

Suddenly, he broke off and pulled away. "I'm sorry, my lady," he said. "I shouldn't be burdening you with this."

Guinevere reached out and took his hand again. "It's all right, Arthur. I knew you before you were a king, remember? It's not weakness to show your doubt. Not around us. I'm a lady now, but I used to be… furniture. You're not the only one who doubts himself."

"It's… so churlish and unmanly to complain. I am the sovereign lord of this kingdom. But I feel so alone, Guinevere. Nothing around me is straightforward. There is no one I can trust."

"And Merlin?"

"Merlin is just one man. He would give his life for me, I know. But he can't stand against an army."

"He would do it. For you, Arthur. And what of your knights? What of me? You may stand against all the armies in the world, but you'll never stand alone."

Arthur looked up at the sky, jet black and embroidered with a million sparkling stars. Merlin would know all the constellations and what they meant. He saw the world as full of life, full of stories. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every speck of soil meant something to him. How did one slip of a boy, born into poverty, so abused and mistreated, garner so much wisdom, move so gaily through the world, when a prince like Arthur was so lost?

"Arthur," said Guinevere. "Do not despise your nobles."

"What? They're despicable. You saw what they did to you!"

"Arthur, I've known you a long time. You said it yourself. They were raised to see the world in a certain way. I've watched you show as much cruelty to Merlin as those girls showed to me. He had to teach you a better way. It's your duty to teach them."

"I don't want to," said Arthur petulantly.

"The dragon leads. His nobles merely follow. You showed that back in the hall. You showed them a better way to treat me. You can do it again."

"I'm... so tired, Guinevere."

"A crown is a heavy burden to bear. Go and rest, my lord."

Arthur protested, saying he would not leave her alone, but Guinevere silenced him and pushed him back inside. "Go to your room, my lord. Rest. That's a command from your sworn baroness."

When Arthur was gone, Gwen sat alone on the cold stone of the balustrade, shivering in her satin gown without her cloak. She wiped tears from her eyes.

Far, far above, the stars formed fantastic shapes: dragons in flight, wings of hawks, and chains of light, like links forged on a blacksmith's anvil.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter wasn't finished, but it got too long, so I decided to end it here and post the remaining scenes later. I will also have a longer author's note with some comments about the story structure, plot threads I dropped, other things I expanded etc. I will have some questions for anyone reading about what they would like to see, because this story definitely sprouted subplots I wasn't expecting, so I'm going to have to shake things up a bit. Until then, thanks for reading and stay safe!


	12. Revelations

_Named cast:_

_Envoys from Camelot._

Merlin, a crypto-sorcerer, and Royal Herald of Camelot.

Bishop Rhodri, chaplain to King Arthur's court.

Sir Gawaine, a Knight of the Round Table, excelled in strength only by Sir Percival.

Finna, a Druidess of great power, allied to the feared order of the Catha.

_Druids._

Iseldir, a Druid chieftain.

* * *

Four hooded and cloaked figures had departed from the capital's western gate, riding hard for the north.

Making good time, it had taken them barely a day to clear the dense forest surrounding the city. That had brought them to a stretch of wild moor, which they now traversed, their sights fixed on the distant treeline. According to Gaius, in the woods beyond, they would find a camp of Druids who had made friendly overtures to Camelot in the past.

It vexed Merlin to tax the horses as they had. He was riding a sweet-tempered grey mare called Misty. Misty had a fine, slender cast to her limbs that made the king's stablehand, Tyr Seward, suspect Iberian ancestry for her.

When Merlin had first come to Camelot, he and Tyr had often had long conversations, as Tyr brushed down the horses, and Merlin mucked out the stables. Tyr had explained that Misty's intelligence, agility and graceful frame were marks of the Andalusian stock brought up from the far south by Saracen traders. However, a small mare could not carry a big man in full plate armour, for which purpose the knights of Camelot favoured the heavy-boned warhorses of Gallic descent. So Misty had not been much loved by the knights of the court, though she had been retained for swift scouting expeditions and pleasure trips.

Whenever Merlin would be banished to the stables by Arthur's displeasure, he would rake the floor angrily, and Misty would put her solemn face over her stall and regard him from under her long eyelashes, as if in sympathy. Then he would stop what he was doing and rub her head gently, and she would whicker softly and listen as he poured out his resentment at Arthur. Over time, Arthur had reserved Misty for Merlin's personal use, since Merlin's slight frame and light attire meant he could manouevre her better than anyone else.

Arthur had been the one to teach Merlin how to ride with all the accoutrements of the nobles, for Merlin's previous experience had been with workhorses and mules. Yet once Merlin had learnt to sit the saddle properly, he had ridden with an ease that had amazed Arthur. Arthur also remarked that Merlin seemed able to turn Misty whichever way he pleased, and start and stop her, without even pulling the reins or using the spurs.

Arthur had said that he supposed a dumb beast knew his own kind best, and Merlin had laughed it off, but the observation had unsettled him. In Ealdor his affinity for animals had attracted suspicious looks, and he didn't want anyone attributing his horsemanship to supernatural powers. From then on he always made sure to tug the reins and touch the spurs to Misty's sides as he rode, though he never applied any pressure.

Now the cannons of Misty's legs, the lengths between her knees and her hooves, bore scratches and signs of abuse. Once out of the forest, they had tried to avoid the brambles and rough patches as much as possible, but the moors were treacherous, and even the long grasses and stretches of heather concealed spikes and snares. Merlin often lay his hand on Misty's warm head as he rode, whispering reassuring words to her.

To the east and west, between the two reaches of woodland, the fens extended as far as the eye could see. This was a desolate and ill-omened landscape, free of trees, with only thick grasses and hedges of thorns clinging to the softly rolling hillsides. Light rain constantly pattered on their faces, and a dull grey mist blanketed everything, severely reducing visibility. Occasionally the sun broke through, painting the grass a soothing emerald, and making the dewdrops glitter.

"Grim places, these moors," Rhodri observed as they slowed to a trot, to rest the horses. "My mother used to tell me a story about them. She said that when we died, we had to cross a moor to reach the Otherworld. Those who had given socks away to the poor would have socks to wear on their journey. But those who had not been generous in charity would have to go barefoot, dragging their feet through the thorns, tearing them to bloody shreds. A strange tale to tell a child, though I suppose it had a good intent."

"I've heard worse stories about moors," said Gawaine. He rode in the lead, and as the only knight among them, he felt responsible for their protection. He was clearly uneasy at being unable to see very far through the dense fog. "They say wild beasts stalk them. They have different names in different places. Sometimes it's a gigantic hound, a hellhound, they say. Other times it's a wolf, which sometimes walks on all fours, and other times goes on two feet like a man."

"How inventive is Man's fancy," said Rhodri, with forced mirth.

"'Tis no idle fancy," said Finna. "There are great wolves which run in these places. My forebears knew of them. Some say they are left behind from the dawn times, when aurochs and giants walked Albion. Others say when the Vykings landed their boats, they brought with them direwolves, the children of Fenrir. Some of the Danes were shapeshifters and berserkers. They slew bears and wolves, and wore their skins in battle, taking animal souls into their bodies so they could fight like beasts. When the Vykings were slain by our ancestors, their souls refused to pass to Valhalla, instead remaining here and inhabiting the bodies of wild beasts. These werebeasts grew to great sizes and attacked our people with the strength of wolves and the cunning and malice of men.

"Others say that under the witching moon, the wards between this world and Fairyland grow thin. Then the Fey lords and ladies call the Wild Hunt, and ride through our skies, and packs of ghost wolves run before them, flushing out their quarry. They do not much care if their prey is beast or man, for it is all sport to them. I do not fear walking the forests at night, but even I do not tarry on the moors, especially when the moon is full."

A brief silence greeted these words.

"Thank you for that sermon, Mother Druid," said Gawaine. "It was most reassuring. I can't imagine why men prefer the Church's teaching to yer religion."

"The purpose of religion is to reveal truth to Man," Finna replied, "not to comfort him with fables. Fear is a gift. A man who walks with no terror in his soul little understands the world's nature."

"If terror is a sign of understanding, Merlin must understand the world better than any other man," Gawaine jested.

"Indeed, he is wise beyond his years," said Finna, looking at Merlin sadly. "Yet even he has much more to learn."

They pushed on, then, crossing the moorland as quickly as possible. Merlin began to feel more at ease once they reentered the woods. They rode until the trees became thicker and thicker, and when they came to the banks of a placid river, Gawaine called a halt.

The branches overhead shielded them from the rainfall. The river was full of life. Flies hovered in thick clouds over the waters, and ruby-throated swallows whirred to and fro, snatching up the insects, banking sharply and touching the river with their wings, sending expanding circles rippling through its surface. Moorhens, ducks and other waterfowl waddled along the banks, digging into the earth with their bills, some trailed by downy chicks. A pair of swans had nested not far away, the female sleeping atop her egg with her neck tucked in elegantly, her mate beating the water with his wings to warn other birds from coming too close.

As Merlin refilled his waterskin, the swallows and other birds swooped nearer to him, as if drawn by an invisible force. Instinctively he raised his hand, and one of the swallows landed on his upturned palm, as tame as a hunter's hawk. It cocked his head and looked at him, chirped a few piping notes, and fluttered away, sapphire wings flashing.

Rhodri had observed the occurrence with interest. "The order of Franciscans would love you, Merlin!" he laughed. "God's creatures are clearly drawn to you. It is a sign of a gentle and holy spirit."

"'Tis indeed a sign," agreed Finna, though the look in her eyes suggested she read a wilder, and more pagan, significance into Merlin's charms.

Gawaine passed around some hard tack from their saddlebags, which made for miserable eating. Fortunately, Finna had made a habit of foraging as they journeyed, and the woods yielded a hidden bounty of nuts, mushrooms and edible flowers to her, which she employed to sweeten their fare somewhat. Merlin took the opportunity to apply some healing balsam to their horses' legs, and rub the beasts down, while speaking words of reassurance to them.

"I could use some comforting, too, Merlin," said Gawaine, shaking his mane. "We're not far from the spot Gaius indicated. Let's hope the Druids are as friendly as he says. Though once they see the colours we wear, they're likely to stick us with arrows."

"They must see we are an official delegation from the king," Rhodri said. "And surely they will be pacified when they see we return the Cup of Life to them."

"That would be the cup Arthur took from them by putting a sword to a boy's throat?" Gawaine asked. "Oh, aye, they'll be thrilled, no doubt."

"And we have a Druidess with us," said Rhodri, turning to Finna.

"My master Alator is likely more feared than respected by these Druids," Finna replied. "Nevertheless, my presence will certainly guarantee your safety, at least at first. Though it may not ensure a warm welcome. That is beyond my power."

"This is the right thing to do," said Rhodri firmly. "We must try. Did Daniel not fear when he was cast into the lion's den? Yet the Lord of Hosts was with him." He paused. "I must confess, I have been tormented by doubts over this mission. My dreams have troubled me. I know the Cup of Life is a Druid relic, and was in their keeping from ages past. Yet in my sleep, I have seen visions of the Saviour expiring on the Holy Cross, and I dreamed this very Cup caught the blood from His side, as the Sacred Grail of legend."

"The Cup's magic is timeless," said Finna. "It takes the form of whatever is most sacred in the beholder's heart. To the Cambricmen of old, it appeared first as a magic cauldron. The Palatines thought it a chalice filled with waters from the river Styx. To the Saxons, it was a mead-cup from the halls of Odinheim, holding the gods' ale, or the healing tears of Freya. No doubt you perceive it as catching the blood of your Saviour for that reason."

"What do you see, when you look at it?" asked Rhodri anxiously.

"No man, least of all a Nazarin priest, can comprehend what my eyes see," said Finna.

To Merlin, the cup appeared as a fine goblet. Yet even now, when it was wrapped and locked away in a casket, he could feel its raw power. It whispered promises of abundance, of overflowing strength, yet it also echoed with a strange, empty hunger. He could feel it brimming with limitless power, and demanding a terrible price in return. Life and death were two sides of a coin, and the cup offered one in exchange for the other. Its music was like impossible hope, and endless sorrow.

They began riding again, picking their way gingerly through the trees. All of a sudden Merlin felt the prickle of magic on the back of his neck, and a new trail became clear, emerging from the undergrowth before them.

"There is Druidsign on these trees," Finna announced. "I have opened their wards, so the way to their camp is clear to us, and their hexes will not harm us. They will know a Druid approaches, now."

Finna's voice sounded privately inside Merlin's head: _Emrys! Read the signs of the forest. You have tasted of the greenblood enough for this._

Merlin closed his eyes, trusting Misty to keep to the path before him. He felt the sap thrumming slowly through the trees. He felt the leaves squelching under Misty's hooves, the tiredness in her limbs. He felt the small bright souls of the swallows as they swooped and chirped through the branches.

The spirits of the trees had been bent into an artificial shape here, guided like tendrils of ivy made to climb a trellis. The Druids had built a camp in the centre of the forest and then sealed it behind them. They had taken the pathways in the soil and knotted them into themselves, locking them away with the magic of the runes they had inscribed in the tree trunks. It was this tangle of spells Finna had expertly unlatched. What skills the Druids had! The whole forest was their fortress, the animals their sentries, the trees a living wall to confound outsiders. Small wonder they had retreated here to escape Uther's witch-hunts. None but a sorcerer could hope to discover them here.

Merlin began to hear the soft clamour of the Druids' minds against his own, like the hubbub of a distant crowd in the Lowtown marketplace. Their minds were different from those of other men, as different as silver from tin. He did not know if it was the effect of their magical arts, or being brought up in their ancient ways, but there was a musical quality to their thoughts. When many of them were gathered together, their minds sounded like a distant chorus of birdsong, or the wind sighing through metallic chimes. Merlin could only make out one word, whispered again and again, by voices young and old, in a myriad of tones.

_Emrys… Emrys... Emrys!_

They cleared a rise, and the encampment appeared before them. Lightly travelled the Druids, their tents springing as if from the ground itself. A row of Druid warriors, clad in skins, faces tattooed blue, stood in a line between the new arrivals and the camp, spears planted by their sides. Merlin recognised a familiar face among them, as the four riders came to a halt.

"Well met, Master Emrys!" called Iseldir, his voice carrying further than it should have. The Druid leader was garbed in a plain cotton robe, and bore no weapon, unlike his companions. "Why have you brought the servants of Camelot to our door?"

Iseldir must already know, and sense the Cup's magic, but perhaps the formalities had to be observed. Merlin cleared his throat.

"Something has gone wrong," said Finna. "Look at the ghost pikes."

At certain points on the camp's perimeter, bare trees had sprung up, trunks rising into the air like spires atop a church steeple. There were… heads... impaled on some of them.

Iseldir followed the direction of Merlin's gaze. "Men of Camelot hunt us like game. Their patrols should not be able to find our people in the woods, yet they do. They defy their own king, and resort to magic charms to discover us. Would he care if he knew? Or merely rejoice that the Druids are exterminated?"

Rhodri began to speak. "It is on the king's behalf that we come-"

"Peace, Druid-burner!" said Iseldir. "It is Emrys' voice we would hear now. You invoke Arthur Pendragon, but it is the king with the crown of oak who has authority among us."

Rhodri looked at Merlin curiously. "It seems they consider you nobility among themselves, Merlin. Why do they call you Emrys?"

"The Druids are a peaceful people," said Finna. "If their warriors are taking heads, someone has declared blood war. Only a Catha or a High Priestess has such authority. We are in danger, now, as is the king. Rogue Druids have given Camelot trouble, but if they move against the kingdom en masse, it will be carnage."

"Well met, Mam Finna!" said Iseldir. "What strange times are these, when the Druids stand alone, and the Bendrui ride under the banner of Camelot!"

"I ride with Emrys," Finna replied, "under whatever banner, or none!"

"And what does Emrys have to say?"

Merlin cleared his throat, recalling his lessons in Rhetoric.

"Greetings, Iseldir Forestwalker! I come in the stead of King Arthur Pendragon. I am his Herald, and speak with his voice. The king would have peace with your people, and we bear gifts in his name."

"Ah," said Iseldir. "So the king has realised your value, Emrys. You are no longer his menial, but his voice. You were named Dragontongue, for you truly speak to Dragons, and plead for the Dragon Kings. But do you yet command them, or do they command you? You will have hospitality among us. The knight and priest of Camelot would lose their lives, but for the company they keep."

"That's reassuring," muttered Gawaine, while Rhodri crossed himself and whispered, "_Ave Maria, gratia plena. Dominus tecum._"

Finna, who looked amused, said, "You invoke well, Brother Priest, but it is the Ladies of the Wood who have power here. Though I doubt you learnt of them in seminary school. If you must hide behind a woman's skirts, stay by my side. I am more likely to be of protection to you than your Constant Virgin."

They were given leave to ride into the camp, Gawaine surrendering his weapons to a guard. A large tent in the camp's centre was set aside for Iseldir, and they were shown into it by the burly, heavily armed spearmen. Iseldir bade them sit on some soft mats, and passed around a platter of bread, salt and fruit, which each of them tasted of, for by eating of the Druids' offering, they would be guests, offered some protection by the laws of hospitality.

"Now speak of your mission, Emrys," said Iseldir.

"The king seeks reconciliation. He repents of his treatment of your people."

Iseldir scoffed. "What value is a king's repentance? What penance did the Italic priest set for this sin? Did the king chant the rosary a hundred times, or write out his lines? Will that bring back our slaughtered people?"

"Nothing can restore the innocent blood that has been spilt, Master," said Rhodri. "But the king has brought you your ancient relic. The Cup of Life." He took the velvet bundle out of the casket and approached Iseldir, with head bowed. The Druid allowed the bishop to place the Cup before him and return to his place.

"This," said Iseldir, "is indeed a sincere gesture. The Cup was taken from us by force, but I vouchsafed it to you, Emrys. Your need of it will be greater than ours. Will you surrender it so easily?"

"Why will my need be greater than yours?" asked Merlin.

"The drums of war are beating. You saw my people girded for battle. It was not my wish, but some among us have read the signs of destruction, and goaded us to combat. We are not alone. Your king marches to the east. His capital is exposed, as is he, in the woods. There are those of us who would take advantage of this confusion. We do not love the Normans or Saxons, but it was the Pendragons who persecuted us most bitterly in living memory."

"Then all the better that you should have the Cup," said Merlin. "Were it left to us, what would become of it? If Arthur went to war in the east, would he ask our sorcerers to resurrect our fallen people? Would we pervert its magic to create another immortal army? Your people would use it wisely."

"Perhaps we would have, in the past," said Iseldir. "Yet the time of the Druids is ending. Pallantium destroyed us. Their Empire is fallen, but we are dying a death just as sure. Our sacred groves are withering. The wisdom of our ancestors is lost generation by generation. Magic is flowing out of the world. It is not just we who have felt it.

"The seers of the Norselings have prophesied the Ragnarok of this age. They saw a great battle, which shook the roots of the World-Tree, and sent many kingdoms and heroes to their deaths. I know not if it will come in one year, or twenty, but a great doom is stirring that will sweep all the Old Ways from the world, and make Uther's Purge seem like child's play."

Finna replied, "You speak of magic dying, yet the Emrys of this age sits before you. Even a World-Tree may be stabilised, and dying roots restored."

"Lady," said Iseldir, "I know not if devotion to Merlin or to your order has blinded you, but you know better than I that some things are greater than Men, even men like Emrys. Destiny is relentless and implacable. Nevertheless, I will not have it said that we shirked our duty. Nor will I abandon the chance to secure peace between our peoples. I accept the king's offer, and I will formalise a treaty with Camelot. Though if the visions of the prophets are true, you must know this may be a covenant between one dying people and another. There are wounds in the fabric of this world that even the Cup cannot heal."

Merlin bowed his head. "Thank you, Iseldir. Thank you for your forbearance, your compassion and your generosity."

"Qualities which you also show in abundance, Emrys," replied Iseldir. "I will gather my people, those who still value peace, and do what I can to spread word of Arthur's tolerance. We will dissuade as many Druid renegades as we can from hostility towards Camelot. Anything more from us, however… true allyship… will require us to practice the arcane arts openly in Arthur's cities." He looked at Rhodri pointedly.

"I do not know how long it will take," Rhodri replied, "but those of us within the Church are doing what we can."

Iseldir raised his eyebrows in surprise. "A witch-burner who would see magic made lawful? Perhaps Camelot truly has changed. But we cannot hold you here any longer. The king is in more immediate danger than you know, Emrys. The renegade Druids mean to strike at him within two days, for he is already en route to Lord Gow's capital."

Merlin leapt to his feet.

"Wait!" said Gawaine. "If the king's already riding east, he has all his marcher lords with him. The earls brought their knights and households to the capital, and now they'll be returning the way they came, ready for war. The king never travels with so many barons. He'll be better protected than ever before. Even if every Druid in Camelot attacked, they'd be outnumbered."

"In pitched combat, yes," said Iseldir. "But you do not know the extent of a Druid's power in the forests, Sir Knight! When we gather in numbers, we can bend the very forces of nature. They will wait until the entire court is in a wooded area, and the earth herself will open to swallow them. What will the knights fight? The trees? The skies? The bogs and lakes? The mist that surrounds them and enchants them, making them strike down their brothers?"

"Bring the horses!" shouted Merlin. "I'll not let Arthur march to his death!"

The four envoys from Camelot speedily made their preparations to depart. As they dressed their horses, Gawaine retrieved his weapons, then jerked his head at Merlin, asking the younger man to walk apart with him.

"Merlin," he said in a low voice. "The Druids seem to think you're an honorary member of their tribe. Finna, too."

"Yes," said Merlin distractedly. "I… we saved a Druid boy's life once. It was before I met you. They gave me that title in gratitude."

"Seems more than that. They talk about ye like you're some kind of royalty."

"That's just the way they speak. They're a very poetic society."

"Funny," said Gawaine. "All the Druid leaders have magic. You wouldn't think they'd call just any old serving boy a king, now, would ye?"

"They're a queer people, Gawaine," said Merlin, his ears starting to burn. "We need to make haste."

"Merlin. Arthur's wronged a lot of people. It's not just the Druids he's killed. It's the people his kind have forced into hiding. I've been around, I know the world is made up of many different kinds of folk. Even those who aren't officially meant to exist. So many people in Camelot have been working for Arthur, and they haven't been able to show themselves because of him."

"I don't know what the point of this is, Gawaine."

"Well, it seems to me that if Arthur gets his way, a lot of things will come out into the open. Maybe our kingdom will get a little more free. Seems like he's making space for a lot of people to stop hiding."

"Seems like he is."

Gawaine stopped, and took Merlin by the shoulders. "Merlin. Those Druids terrify me. I don't want to have to fight them. If they're going to attack us, I want to know we're using every weapon we have against them."

"Gawaine…"

"If we're attacked, we'll split up. I'll take the bishop and keep him safe. You and Finna, get out there and… do whatever ye have to do. _Whatever _ye have to do. I'm not Arthur, Merlin. I've always liked ye. _All _of ye."

Gawaine released Merlin and led his horse away. Merlin must have gotten something in his eye, because after a while, he blinked rapidly and rubbed at his face with his sleeve.

* * *

Another two days hard riding had brought them into the earldom of Montgomery, not far from the capital town which gave the territory its name. Provided Iseldir's intelligence was correct, they were close to the location of where the Druids would assault Arthur. They had seen more and more signs of the court as they'd travelled, and the trail of firepits, raked earth and trodden soil, left by the passage of the huge retinue travelling with Arthur, had given Merlin fresh hope.

They spurred their horses on now, cresting a hill, and when they reached the summit a groan of dismay escaped Merlin.

The ground fell away ahead of them, dipping into a steep valley. They could not see what lay within clearly, for it was all blanketed by an unnaturally heavy white mist. Roars as of clanging swords and shouting men drifted up from the site, but it was all muffled, as if something had sealed the wind away. The mist roiled even in the absence of any breeze, and the trees in the valley moved without apparent reason.

"We're too late," said Finna grimly.

"Arthur's still down there! He must live!" shouted Merlin. "With me!" He spurred Misty on and plunged down the steep track leading into the valley, hearing the others follow.

Suddenly, roots sprouted from the ground ahead and reached for their horses' legs. Merlin reacted instinctively, he knew not how, and the beasts touched his mind, and slowed their gallop. They still tripped, however, and the riders were tossed from their saddles. Had they been travelling at full speed, their bones would have shattered. Even so, Merlin had all the breath knocked out of him, and it took him a full half minute to recover from his shock, extricate himself from the stirrups, and stagger to his feet.

Rhodri had fallen back and taken shelter behind one of the horses. Finna was driving two renegade Druid warriors before her, eyes aglow as she conjured walls of fire to scorch the vines and roots they launched at her. Behind her, Gawaine had drawn his sword and was circling to a position where he could attack. Suddenly a roar sounded, and a brown bear tumbled out of the trees behind Gawaine. It bristled at him and reared up, clearly enchanted by the Druids to attack.

"No!" shouted Merlin. Gawaine was in light mail and forest green cloth. Even in full plate armour a bear could have knocked him senseless. The knight had put up his sword valiantly against this new threat, and to his credit, the blade was steady as a rock. He would not survive long.

Merlin pulled a longsword from Misty's saddle, not worrying about the horse's condition now. He ran to the other side of the bear, a spell on his lips, but just before he could reach the beast, something punched him in the chest. He looked down, and to his surprise, an arrow shaft had sprouted from his ribcage.

_I should have worn mail, _he thought. _I didn't want anything to slow me down. Had to reach Arthur in time. Arthur, please be alive. I'm coming for you, sire._

In slow motion, Merlin saw the bear revolving in front of him. It was almost comical, like a farce from one of those cruel animal circuses Merlin hated. He heard Gawaine shout, saw the knight charging the bear out of the corner of his eye, but the beast ignored him, and swatted at Merlin with one enormous paw. Merlin saw the paw coming with interest, from a distance, like an interesting cloud formation on the horizon. When it hit him, he went flying.

He lay on the ground for some time after that. He was in pain, he was dimly aware. There was a crack in his ribs and jagged fire in his lungs. Mercifully, everything felt dim, like it was happening to someone else.

After a while, he saw Bishop Rhodri's face float into view above him. Good old Rhodri. The priest's right hand swam into Merlin's vision and moved up and down, side to side, tracing the sign of the cross. His lips moved. Good old Rhodri always had a prayer, and a kind word for everyone. Merlin stared at Rhodri's mouth, trying to make out what was being said.

It was funny, Rhodri's hand kept dancing. He wasn't just making the sign of the cross. There were other shapes, circles and squares, and patterns Merlin had seen in alchemical diagrams. Merlin was absorbed by Rhodri's lips, the forms they made, and the sounds issuing from them.

"_Miserere eius, Domine, quoniam infirmus est." _Warmth swirled around Merlin, as if he had been lowered into a hot bath, or wrapped in a woollen cloak. The knife-like pain in his ribs dulled.

"_Sana eum, Domine, quoniam conturbata sunt ossa sua." _Rhodri's compassionate blue eyes shone as golden as his hair, as the last of the pain was driven from Merlin's body, and darkness overtook him.


	13. Druidsbane

The Court of King Arthur had risen early and resumed their march. The numbers of their cavalry were so great, the ground trembled as they crossed into Lord Gow's lands.

They had departed the capital three days prior. Arthur had called together all his knights and men-at-arms, and joined his strength to those of the eastern earls. His host had ridden from the city in such force that the citizens had marvelled at the spectacle. Their aim was to patrol the border and make a show of strength as they passed along the disputed territories. Possibly there would be skirmishes with the Normans. Arthur knew that Lord Broderick wished to push back and reclaim some of the lands the Normans had taken. He knew that if they forced a war, the marcher lords would be pleased.

Arthur was uncertain he was ready to commit to a full scale conflict with the Normans, when Lady Morgana and her Druid allies were out there somewhere, lying low, watching and waiting. Still, he had amassed enough troops that Camelot would overwhelm the Norman barons, unless they appealed for help from their king. Should the Norman king Richard enter the fray he would surely turn the tide, but he would be unable to divert all of his warriors from his northern border, lest he weaken the line holding back the Saxons.

To general surprise, Archbishop De Croismere had insisted upon riding with them. His argument had been that, as Bishop Rhodri was away on business, the king would require a spiritual advisor of equal standing to replace him. Further, treating with the Normans would benefit from the presence of a high-ranking clergyman.

Arthur had to admit that the Archbishop's reasoning was persuasive. The Church had often appointed herself as an intermediary between the princes of Nazardom. As a supposedly neutral party, she was frequently called upon to resolve disputes, and she strongly pressured the nobility to favour peaceful resolutions over the alternatives. This interference was not always pleasing to the lords.

As Lord Gow had said to Arthur earlier, "The Church would have us play games of courtesy with the Normans and Saxons, even as they reave and pillage us. They would rather we not waste our knights' lives on combat with each other. They would prefer to divert our knights to the Holy Land so they can fight the heathen Saracen instead.

"But tell me, sire, what have the Saracens done to us, personally? Why should I throw my men's lives away killing some faraway heathens and reclaiming some old tomb? It is the Normans and Saxons, our neighbours, who have assaulted us and massacred our people, and thanks to them there are tombs aplenty here. Should we restrain ourselves from striking back, simply because we share the same faith? Should it comfort me that a man crosses himself before burning down my keeps, slaughtering my men, and ravishing my womenfolk? Damn the Normans and Saxons, and damn the priesthood for shackling our sword-arms and preaching that we are all brothers. We are assuredly not."

Arthur sympathised with Lord Gow's frustrations, but none of them were at present powerful enough to deny the Archbishop, or to spurn the Church's influence.

Arthur also believed there were other factors motivating the Archbishop. For one, if they did strike against the Normans, there would certainly be spoils of war. Arthur imagined De Croismere salivating at the prospect of his priests receiving their cut from whatever lands were retaken by Camelot. De Croismere was also a shrewd politician, who resented Bishop Rhodri's position at the court, and he likely relished this rare opportunity to be close to the king and his principal vassals, gathering intelligence and influencing decisions directly. Finally, the Archbishop had another concern, which he had not bothered to conceal, for on their very first day on the move, he had asked:

"Where is your Herald, sire? Why does he not attend to you during your banquets? Should he not be bearing your arms and announcing you at feasts?"

Arthur appeared nonchalant. "My Herald, Your Grace, does not just sing my praises. He is my voice. A king's voice is not like an ordinary man's. It does not always remain close beside him, but must resound throughout the four corners of his kingdom. Sometimes it calls for war, sometimes it entreats peace, sometimes it threatens, sometimes cajoles. My Herald's business is to bear my words through my dominion."

"And what words is he bearing, exactly?"

"Alas, Your Grace, a king must whisper as often as he shouts. Sometimes my Herald will roar my words, and at other times he will pass so softly that none may hear him. Rest assured, Merlin will be restored to us soon enough. The court will witness the full sound and fury of my voice when the time is right, and not before."

The Archbishop had been hardly satisfied by this exchange, but not wanting to press the point further, he had kept his silence.

If the earls had intended Arthur's eastward ride to be a test, they must have surely been impressed, or frustrated, by how the king had risen to the occasion. In their jousting and training exercises Arthur had given no quarter, overcoming every single assailant, excepting his own knight, Sir Percival. His men were exceptionally well trained and organised, even the mercenaries and foreign soldiers, who had been folded into his own forces with such efficiency, it seemed as if they had fought for Camelot all their lives. Each of Camelot's knights responded to the king's orders like limbs of his own body, yet when the command was given to split into battalions, each knight peeled off and led his own troops with initiative and dexterity, while still conforming to the king's overall tactics.

Even in the games and pastimes of the court, Arthur performed with almost supernatural skill. Whether hunting, shooting, hawking or riding, he threw himself to the forefront of each activity with immense vigour. When the passage of the court flushed game out of the forest, he acted most unlike a young king with no heir, and frequently hurled himself in the path of danger, often placing his own body between another rider and the antlers of a stag, or the tusks of a boar. His courage was always rewarded with the first kill, or the slaying of a beast so aggressive that none dared approach as near as he.

And yet, despite his successes, the king was always generous, and never overbearing. Frequently a beautiful game animal would appear near to him, and the king would command one of his knights or barons to have first pursuit of it. In mock combat, he was never so churlish as to hold back his strength and humiliate his opponent, but he was always careful, and scrupulous to take no advantage. If a rider was unhorsed, Arthur would also dismount. If the man then lost a shield, Arthur would cast his own aside. Should the man be dazed by Arthur's blows, Arthur would wait for him to take his feet before attempting another sally.

The knights and barons from outside of the capital, who had heard stories of the indolence, decadence and weakness of the city, were moved to grudging admiration and respect for Arthur. It certainly confirmed in the minds of many present that Arthur himself possessed no fault, although he might have surrounded himself with questionable company out of his own generosity and kindness to others.

Although he was regent, and his hunters were obligated to bring him their kills as homage, Arthur himself dedicated most of his successful hunts and jousts to the ladies of the court. Like a lesser knight seeking favour from his lady, he brought some token of each kill or victory - a set of antlers, an ivory tusk, the shield of a surrendered knight - and deposited it before each of the women present, declaring it an act of homage to her beauty. He took care to honour a woman of each noble house in turn, so that none of the assembled company were offended.

Similarly, in the non-martial pursuits, Arthur displayed a deftness that would have surprised those who knew him even a few years ago. He rose with manly grace to each dance, partnering each lady in turn. He made charming conversation with the damsels, roguish conversation with the knights, and learned conversation with the elders. He quipped with the fools and tumblers, toasted the health of his warriors and barons, and generously divided the spoils of each hunt to his honoured guests. He even borrowed a lute from a passing minstrel and plucked a ballad or two, showing that he had a pleasant, if untutored, voice. If any of the women or men present remained yet unmoved by Arthur's looks, they were certainly affected by his gallantry and charisma.

Further, while he never forgot a king's largesse or grace, there were times when Arthur seemed to forget a king's haughtiness. Sometimes he would stand deep in conversation with the horsemaster and stablehands, listening intently to their opinions on the merits of various breeds. Other times he would consult with his huntsmen, hawkmaster and houndmaster on the conditions of the forest. At yet other times he was interviewing the scouts on the best ways to ride in the different terrains ahead, or asking various men-at-arms, even the commoners, their opinions on military tactics. Each of these men and women came away from their interactions with the king feeling more honoured and listened to than they had under the late Uther, for Arthur had the gift of putting people at their ease, and making them forget the differences between their stations - except when he chose otherwise.

It was not an exaggeration to say that many members of Arthur's court, as well as those nobles of the outlying regions, loved the king with a tenderness exceeding that due to their sovereign. Even the various earls, who Arthur knew were determined to embarrass him, seemed to be softening towards him. At one of their meals, Arthur heard Lord Broderick's son Niel boasting to his fellow pages about the king's various achievements, and how Niel would soon be made a squire, and fight just as hard as his master. Lord Broderick also watched his son, and then was seen to be looking at Arthur with a strange expression on his face, almost of respect mixed with regret.

There had only been one sour note during their journey, and that had been a disagreement between Lord Pryde and King Arthur about how to discipline one of the earl's knights.

"Your Majesty!" Lord Pryde had exclaimed, riding up beside the king. "I hear Sir Caeret has been taken into your custody! What is the meaning of this?"

"It is simple," said Arthur. "I mean him to answer for his crime."

"But this is outrageous! He is my knight. By custom his punishment should be my concern."

"I was not satisfied that your punishment fit the offence," said Arthur. "He assaulted one of my people. Justice will be done."

"Sire, we offered the girl's father a very generous sum. We paid the compensation in compliance with the law. More than the _bot _for a peasant girl-"

"A pittance!" said Arthur. "And what have you done to discipline him, to prevent this from happening again? I will not have knights marauding among my people like wolves among sheep. I will not have them pillaging with impunity, then paying off their victims with a few shillings. I shall be merciful. He will be imprisoned for a time. It will give him opportunity for quiet reflection and prayer."

"My lord! You cannot mean to deprive me of one of my best knights! What will this do to the men's morale?"

"If your court's best example of chivalry, Lord Pryde, is a ravisher of women, you have more pressing concerns than Sir Caeret."

Lord Pryde changed tack. "Do you take the word of some wanton miller's wench over a sworn knight, sire? These common lasses are not like the ladies of the court you are familiar with. They have no regard for their virtue, and they descend upon gentle knights like seductresses and lusty succubi. No doubt she fabricated the allegations out of shame, upon being discovered."

"I have heard the testimony of the victim and her family, Lord Pryde. More to the point, I have met Sir Caeret. I find it unlikely that anyone would descend upon him willingly, much less like a lusty succubus."

"Then, my lord, I plead a careful review of Sir Caeret's case! If he must be judged by the capital, let him sit before your council of justice. Rather than the hasty judgement of a king in the field, let his fate be decided by the older and more temperate judges of your court, who will consult the domes and written precedents. A sworn knight deserves the full protection of the law."

"_I am the law!" _roared Arthur. "And while you ride in my court, _I _will decide the fate of your degenerate followers! Mark my words well, my lords." Arthur looked around at the noblemen assembled about him. "I will not have your knights turned loose among my people like bandits! Each grain of wheat taken from the peasants, each cup of wine, each piece of property damaged will be fairly recompensed! Remind them of the Code of Chivalry they serve! And if any of your knights puts a hand on a woman against her will, he loses that hand, I care not if she is a king's daughter or a serf's. I pray your men can keep their sword arms attached to their bodies until after we defeat the Normans." He rode off, leaving Lord Pryde furious, and the other earls alarmed, although Lords Broderick and Gow seemed to approve of Arthur's display of authority.

Now Arthur's host wended its way into a valley in the outlying regions of Montgomery. They travelled in a formation taught to Arthur by his father, who used the dragon as the inspiration for many of his manoeuvres.

Arthur and his earls, along with several companies of knights, made up the dragon's head. Trailing behind and to either side of them were the wings, made up of squadrons usually led by Leon, Elyan, Percival and Gawaine (now absent), each knight taking a point on a wing corresponding to a dragon's talons. These wings were presently half opened, Leon and Elyan spearheading them, but they could be folded back against the body of the army for defence, or spread out fully at Arthur's command, so that the knights raked the countryside in a broad sweep in either direction.

Behind the head, wings and chest of the dragon trailed the main body of the court, the belly of the beast, with its unarmed lords and ladies, craftsmen, workers, cooks, supply wagons, and other personnel. Last in the procession was the rear guard, a smaller and less essential force playing the dragon's tail. But as a dragon's tail was spiked and deadly, any who tried a rear assault on Arthur's army would find their path blocked by bristling blades. Finally, the scouts rode ahead and to either side of the dragon formation.

It was only when the entire formation had entered the valley that they realised something was amiss.

Scouts burst out of the trees ahead of them, galloping back towards Arthur, two men out of a company of six. Behind them came two more terrified horses, with no riders.

Arthur called a halt as the scouts reached him. The first man was fully conscious, his face was white and stricken with fear. The second was slumped over in his saddle, an arrow protruding from his back.

"Who did this?" demanded Arthur.

"Sorcerers, sire!" said the first man. "They came out of the trees, then vanished. They move like ghosts of the forest, faces all blue. Oh, God! When the mist came upon us, there were things moving in it! There was a demon, with the skull of a stag and the body of a giant! It killed Horence and Glyn, tore them off their horses and gored them with its horns! We only got away because Dywel drew his sword and charged at it!"

Oaths and cries of alarm were uttered by the assembled men. Arthur drew his sword.

"Sound the war-horns," he shouted to the nearest herald. "And call in the wings. Send riders to each commander, and rouse the court. We stand and defend until we know what assails us."

The heralds hastened to follow the kings orders. The notes of imminent peril were sounded on the horns, and they echoed down the ranks of the men, resounding into the distance, as each herald and bard heard the tune and replicated it. Everywhere the metallic sounds of swords being unsheathed and shields being dressed filled the air.

Archbishop De Croismere rode up towards Arthur, his purple cassock billowing. "We already know what confronts us, sire! Sorcery! And blue faces are the uniform of the Druid warriors of old, as well you know! This is the fruit of your leniency, sire! I warned you not to make peace with the Druids and undo your father's work. See how the sorcerers repay your mercy."

"This is not the time for a homily, Your Grace," said Arthur. "And how well did your counsel serve my father? He died by a sorcerer's hand, did he not, and left Camelot surrounded by magical foes, who swore to fight us until their last breath. This attack is as much the fruit of his actions, and yours, as any of mine."

"That remains to be seen," said the Archbishop.

"Retreat to the main body of the court, Your Grace. We cannot protect you here."

"God is with me," said the Archbishop. "I will remain."

"Let us pray He loves you more than my father," returned Arthur.

A light mist had been forming as they crossed the valley, and it now thickened. Clouds of fog seemed to rush at them from the east, in the direction the scouts had been ranging. Remembering what the returned scout had said about monsters in the mist, the men muttered uneasily and glanced about them.

"Sire," said Lord Gow, "I know this terrain well. We are not far from the other side of the valley. Beyond is fallow land, flat and treeless. If these are the Druids warriors of old, we must get out of the woods. They can destroy us here."

"But if we move, we are vulnerable," said Arthur.

"Better that we push on, sire!" said Lord Broderick. "Lord Gow has the right of it. Some of us will die, but if we remain here, we shall all perish."

Arthur looked around at his earls, older men who had fought Druids at Uther's side during the Great Purge.

"Are you of one mind in this?" he asked them.

They each nodded their assent grimly.

"Damn the Druids!" swore Lord Gow. "Had we known they were moving against us, we could have prepared defences against their witchcraft."

"The Normans seem less offensive now, do they not?" asked Lord Broderick wryly.

Arthur motioned to the riders nearest him. "Send your swiftest men to the very rear of our host. Those who are near the western rim of the valley should leave that way. The rest of us will press on to the other side. They should follow us as we push through."

"Wait, sire!" called Queen Annis of Caerleon. "We have no charms or defences against the Druids, but we have one thing that may lessen their advantage against us. It is your father's favourite weapon, and the Church's. Uther first deployed it against the Druids, and then many others who threatened him."

"What is that?" asked Arthur.

"Tell me, sire," asked Queen Annis, "how does the Dragon defend itself? Fire is its only friend."

"By St Alban, she speaks truly!" exclaimed Lord Broderick. "These Druids draw their strength from the trees! Burn them down! Wield torches against their mist! If we set the forest alight as we ride, their wights will weaken, and suffer pain as the wood burns!"

"Pass on the order!" Arthur commanded, as his runners departed for the rear.

Presently, other runners from the supply line brought up pitch, oil and kindling, intended for use in sieges. A great bonfire was lit, and torches hastily made by wrapping pitch-soaked rags around wooden batons. Arthur gestured at his knights. "Percival. Elyan. Take your squadrons along the road ahead of us. Push through whatever you find. Use fire and steel! Leon. Take your men, and half of Lord Broderick's knights. Ride back and escort the bulk of the court!"

The knights broke away, carrying torches in their fists, setting the trees on either side of their path aflame. Archers came forth, soaked their arrowheads in pitch, and set them alight. They bent their bows, sending shafts of fire arcing into the woods. As more and more trees burst into flame, thick black smoke arose and mixed with the white mists.

Low, monstrous groans, like the keening of a great beast, began to reverberate through the woods.

"The demons are wounded!" said Archbishop De Croismere, who shared the late Uther's passion for flames. "Keep up the assault! Since these Druids have trafficked with the Devil, give them a taste of the Inferno, their final resting place!"

All of a sudden, shouts began to break out among the knights. The sound of steel glancing off shields, and biting into flesh, began to fill the air.

"What is happening?" muttered Lord Penrose.

"Fall back! Stay close to the fires!" roared Queen Annis. "There is a glamour in the mist!"

The mist had begun to extend creeping fingers into the host of men, targeting those who stood too far from a torch or source of fire. Those knights who had been touched by the miasma suddenly drew their swords and turned on their fellows, lashing at them with terror in their eyes.

"Those who lack torches, get to a fire and find some!" shouted Arthur. "The rest of you, push ahead! Knights with torches on the outside of the path! Keep the mist at bay! Dress your shields and defend against your fellows! Get fire to the enchanted soldiers! Don't strike your fellows unless you must!"

As men scurried to obey Arthur's commands, the sound of crashing branches boomed around them, and something burst out of the trees a mere couple of yards from Arthur and the earls. It was a wooden giant, sculpted seamlessly as if from tree trunks, standing eight feet tall. Two eyes like burning coals shone from its carved wooden face, and each of its limbs were the girth of several trees lashed together.

"What sorcery is this?" hissed Lord Pryde.

Behind the figure slunk a pack of wolves, grey and black, each grown to an enormous size. Their jaws parted, revealing dagger-long yellow fangs. Each beast had a halter of wood about its neck, flowing too naturally to have been shaped without the aid of magic.

"To me!" exclaimed Archbishop De Croismere. He had wrapped the tip of his crozier in pitch-soaked cloth, and now he thrust it into the bonfire. When he raised the staff, the Holy Cross on its point shone like a beacon, blazing with golden flames. Rallying knights around him, he cried, "Let us send this unholy fiend back to the Pit!"

"Your Grace, no!" rejoined Arthur. "It's too dangerous!"

De Croismere waved him away. "Forward!" he commanded the knights who rode to his side. "Let flame be your weapon, as that Cherub who drove our sinful forebears from Eden! The Lord will not permit his servants to be overtaken by the Deceiver! Drive these unhallowed spirits out with fire and iron! Providence will send us a sign of our victory!" The Archbishop and the knights who had answered his summons began to surge forward.

As vexing as Arthur found the Archbishop, he could not but admire the man's bravery, and would not see him fall. "Archers!" shouted Arthur. "The giant!"

The wooden effigy was on a rampage, thrashing its overgrown limbs about, sending men flying left and right. As it carved a path through the massed knights, its flaming eyes seemed to roam about the men's faces as if seeking someone. Arthur had a fair inkling of who it wanted.

Some of the archers ran to light fresh arrows, but some dropped to their knees instead and aimed at Arthur and his earls. Arthur reacted just in time, bringing his shield around and dropping his body behind it, as the first of the arrows ricocheted off the padded wood. A flaming arrow pierced Lord Gow's horse, and he swore as the animal cried out and bucked, almost throwing him off, before breaking into a run.

_This is madness, _Arthur thought. _I'm the one they want. If I remain here in this mist, my men will cut me down, or I will slay them. _

He rose, still shielding himself, pulled a flaming torch from a stand nearby, and began to retreat to the edge of the path.

"What are you doing?" shouted Lord Broderick. "Return to the fire! We cannot protect you!"

"Here I stand!" Arthur bellowed, in the direction of the wooden giant and the wolves, thumping his shield. He waited until the wooden effigy's red eyes were locked on him. "I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Druidsbane! Your quarrel is with me! If you would have vengeance, come and face me!"

He turned and tore off the main path, the torch held before him and the shield behind, vanishing into the misty woods, as his men screamed for him to halt.

* * *

_Merlin dreams, and he sees two young men outfitting themselves for battle: a fair-haired prince, and a man-at-arms, with hair dark as_ _the raven. For a moment he thinks it a vision of Arthur and himself._

_The dark youth plays the squire, tightening the straps of his prince's armour, fastening on his sword belt, and drawing a cloak around him. _

_From somewhere outside, a terrifying baying and howling rends the air. It sounds like a pack of wolves, if wolves had acquired the tongues of men, but learnt no human speech._

_The prince draws his sword and holds it before him. "Are you ready, Balinor?"_

_The dark youth goes to a chest and removes a small velvet bundle, which he unwraps to reveal two daggers. He presents these to his prince._

_The prince puts his longsword aside and examines the new weapons, drawing each in turn. One blade is dull, one shining. "What are these?"_

"_Blades of pure iron and silver, my lord."_

"_Iron? Too brittle to pierce a knight's shield or armour. And silver is too soft. Is this ornamental? A good luck charm?"_

"_No, my lord. You are to use them, but not against knights. Use your steel longsword for mortal men. The iron blade is for Fairykind and sorcerers. Silver is for the undead."_

"_Does the skin of wights turn aside steel?"_

"_Aye, my lord. You have slain magic creatures before, but if you would hunt them under the witching moon, you must know how and where to strike. Steel will do no more than stun creatures of Faery. Only iron draws their blood. The undead will not feel steel's bite at all."_

_The prince looks at his companion uncertainly. "And what will you wield against them?"_

_The dark lad's eyes sparkle in the torchlight. "Fire burns everything, Uther. That is why the dragon is the king of magic beasts, and the Pendragons are the kings of men."_

* * *

Merlin opened his eyes. A dull pain throbbed in his side, and his throat felt like sand. He was lying wrapped in warm blankets, but he was outside, surrounded by greenery. As sensation returned to him, he realised he was shivery and sluggish.

A little distance in front of him, Rhodri was kneeling before a rude wooden cross, which he had fashioned from tree branches and driven into the earth. When the bishop heard Merlin stir, he turned and started up.

"Merlin!" he cried, the joy in his voice apparent as he hurried to Merlin's side.

"Where are we? Where's Arthur?" Merlin tried to sit up.

"Don't move! Here, drink this." Rhodri fetched a cup that had been left to warm by the fire and brought it to Merlin's lips.

Merlin took a deep draught. He fancied he recognised the taste of ashthroat, ribwort and carlisle thistle, ingredients for general wound healing. He had brought dried herbs, but not mixed them up beforehand.

"The horses returned?" Merlin asked. "How long was I adaze?"

"How did you - oh. Yes, three of them did. I didn't have to search for them. They returned right away, and were very skittish, but ignored me. I think they missed you. In any case, I used the herbs from your saddlebags to brew something I recalled from my healing lore. Nothing so potent as your cures, unfortunately. It has been barely an hour."

Merlin tentatively felt his side. "Rhodri. There was an arrow in me."

"Yes," said the bishop, looking rather pink. "Fortunately it had not penetrated deeply. I am no chirurgeon, Merlin. I frittered my time away on absurd trivia, instead of learning how to make men whole, as you do. But I am familiar with the theory of healing. Once the horses returned I plied you with alcohol, and cut the arrow away. A risky chirurgery, I know, but with God's grace, the wound is healing. However, the Druids' arrows are poison. I know not how to slow it. It is still within you, Merlin."

A memory returned to Merlin, Rhodri's eyes flashing gold before Merlin had fainted away. He suspected now that it had been more than God's grace which had healed his wound so speedily, unless Rhodri was correct, and God worked in mysterious ways, even by the ways of sorcery. However, he had no time for that.

"Where is Arthur now?"

Rhodri took a long breath and exhaled. "After you fell, Finna was able to drive away the Druids. She did not tarry long. She said that her Master Alator was close, along with some of his Catha, and that together they would either overpower the Druids or lead them away from Arthur. I assume they succeeded, because after I brought you here, we have had no further trouble. However, the enchanted mist still remains. As far as I can tell, the king and his men remain trapped within it."

Merlin pulled himself up.

"No!" protested Rhodri, but Merlin waved him away.

"I'm getting on a horse, Rhodri."

"Merlin, I can't let you do this. As a bishop, as a friend, I would be complicit in your destruction."

"Rhodri. I'm getting on a horse. You can either assist me, or watch me labour painfully. I am not asking your permission, only your help. But I will do it either way."

Rhodri watched helplessly for a few moments as Merlin rolled onto his front and struggled to push himself up.

"Arthur is an extraordinarily fortunate man, Merlin," said the bishop. He stirred at last, moving forward and helping Merlin get to his knees, then onto his feet. "Sometimes I wonder whether he merits such devotion. You do all this without recognition or recompense."

"I don't do it for recompense," said Merlin, leaning on Rhodri's shoulder as they walked towards where the horses grazed, a little distance away.

"Truly, men like you are exceptional… I pray there is some reward for you in the next life, for there seems to be little here."

"Where's Gawaine?"

"Last I saw, he departed with Finna. Now there is a valorous man. Another one who doesn't want for courage, but perhaps for sense of self-preservation."

Misty saw Merlin and her ears flicked. She cantered towards the pair of men and made a little circle around them, before rushing in and nuzzling Merlin's shoulder.

"Still here, old girl," said Merlin, rubbing her forehead. With Rhodri's assistance, Merlin mounted, and leaned forward, swaying in the saddle. Rhodri tied Gawaine's horse to a tree and mounted his own, watching Merlin with concern.

"Where is Arthur?"

"I do not know, Merlin. The valley is lengthy and shrouded with mist. There are enchantments, unholy creatures in it. We were safe in that grove, where Finna's efforts, or my prayers, and the power of the cross, were sufficient to ward them off. But I dare not enter the mist itself, not with you in your condition. We will not survive long. And how are we to know exactly where the king is? I know your bond with him is strong, but is it strong enough to lead you to him?"

Merlin remembered another occasion on which poison had flowed in his veins, and Arthur had risked his own life to obtain the remedy for Merlin. That was when Merlin had just entered Arthur's service, yet the manservant had drunk from a poisoned chalice for the prince. Since then they had offered their lives for each other many times. And when Arthur had struggled after the Mortaeus flower in that cavern, Merlin had found the prince, even with the many leagues of distance between them, even in his poisoned, fevered dreams.

"I will find the path to Arthur for us, Rhodri," said Merlin, sagging forward in the saddle and leaning his head against Misty's neck. "And if none exists, I shall make one. That is my life's purpose. Finding and keeping him."

"Merlin!"

"Do not fear for me. My flesh is weak, but my spirit is willing." Merlin closed his eyes, and listened to the wood.

There were many birds crowded in the tree branches on the edges of the valley, for they had fled before the creeping mist. Merlin's mind roamed among their bright, swift little souls. He found them trembling, their feathers fluffed in alarm, and their little hearts beating, for they did not like the forest's new music.

He selected a bird that Arthur would know to trust, whatever fell visions the mist was showing him. It was a dove, the sigil of his mother's house, and the sign of the faith the king had placed in Merlin.

_Do not fear, little one, _said Merlin, as he enveloped the bird with his mind. _I am with you. _

The dove opened her wings and flew from the branch, and Merlin flew with her, climbing high above the earth, flitting between the highest branches, up where whatever sorcery stalked below could not discover them.

Nudging her little mind, Merlin whispered, _Gefind Arþur, Culfere!_

And the dove trimmed her wings and plunged headfirst into the enchanted mist.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi everyone, we are almost at the end of the first arc of this story. I did not expect it to take this long to lay the scene for the actual bloody dragon to show up. That long author's note I've been promising for several chapters will probably come at the end of the next chapter, when we wrap the introductory arc up.

Hopefully my notes about what I have planned will allow you to anticipate what plot threads to follow, and lend some coherence to what's come so far. I still have a rough outline for the story, but the Merlin world is so interesting, and there are so many things I was curious about that it's taking me longer to get there than expected…


	14. The Unhallowed Conception

"Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me."

\- Psalm 51:5

"... I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode upon him."

\- John 1:32

* * *

Outside the valley the day was bright, but within it all was gloomy as dusk. The mist had settled everywhere, casting a pall over the valley's inhabitants, so that they stumbled in darkness.

Arthur dragged his aching body through the trees, the torch in his left hand guttering and almost dead. Barren branches raked at his face like witches' fingers, and roots snatched at his chausses. He had to choose a place to make a stand, somewhere he could find kindling dry enough to make a fire. Without pitch, he doubted whether he would succeed, for the fog had saturated the forest, dampening everything. On the whole, this had been a foolish idea.

_At least when I fall, it will be over, _he thought. _No more men will die for my sins, or my father's. And I will go out like a dragon._

Arthur's shield was now strapped to his back. His right hand gripped Excalibur, the blade's length spattered with wolf's blood. The metal seemed to sing in his grasp at times.

When the first of the giant wolves had come upon him, Arthur had unsheathed the weapon. The animal's look of terror had been so clear, its face had seemed almost human. There was something about this blade's origin Merlin had not told him, for it frightened the beasts more than the flaming torch. The wolves circled like shadows made flesh, remaining just out of his reach, staying as close as they dared, while not approaching the sword.

The largest of the wolves, a grey brute near as tall as Arthur's shoulders, had finally gathered the courage to lunge forward. Excalibur had sung out then as it never had before, the blade tracing a silvery arc through the air, biting into the wolf's flesh with more force than Arthur's arm alone should have carried. Its edge had shorn through thick fur, skin and sinew, with almost no resistance, and the beast had fallen to the soil, its lifesblood gushing in rivers from its nearly parted neck. That had been the first of three beasts to be dispatched in quick succession.

The other creatures had melted back into the trees, allowing Arthur to stumble away. He could hear the animals still padding outside his field of vision, trailing him, waiting for him to tire. At times the mist had shown him false impressions, grey shapes looming out of the air, and he had swung the torch to dispel them as he ran, not knowing what was wolf and what was illusion.

He was weary.

He found a small clearing and crouched down, scrabbling in the undergrowth, looking for dried material. The rich smell of damp soil and rotting leaves filled his nostrils. "Come on," he muttered, while the mist thickened and swirled around him. He saw more shapes looming, heard the approach of footsteps.

A Druid youth emerged from the trees, clothed in mail and a fur cloak. Piercing blue were his eyes, and a mass of dark locks framed his face. Arthur thought him familiar.

"Arthur Druidsbane," said the Druid. "Here you are, parted from Emrys, delivered into my power, as the High Priestess said. The Old Religion always exacts its price. The balance of the world must be restored, and sometimes the Lady's Hand must tip the scales. Today I am that Hand of the Goddess."

"Who are you?" said Arthur. "Don't I know you?"

"Before you perish," said the youth, "you will know my name. But first know why you are condemned. A gift, from the lady Morgana." The youth raised his hand, and made an arcane sign with his fingers. The mist surged in response.

"No!" Arthur said, unsure whether he dared to swing the torch, when its flame flickered so precariously. "No more visions!"

Unheeding, the mist rushed upon Arthur, swirled around him, and entered his eyes. His knees buckled, and he felt his strength draining away.

* * *

He beheld a small chamber, inside which stood a young king with two counsellors. The centre of the room was occupied by a large cradle, and within it slept two children, a fair-haired newborn, and an older babe, dark of hair.

"Sire," said a counsellor in a travelling cloak. "Time is of the essence. Thine enemies are legion. The boy child's life is in danger already. Give him unto me."

"Peace, Balinor," said the king. "How beautiful they are. Golden and dark, like you and I. Before Ygraine, I had only ever taken lives, never created them. Now I am blessed with two children."

"So keep your daughter. Give me the boy, and make haste."

The king put out a finger, and stroked the dark child's cheek. "A well-made lass. Yet by the laws of inheritance, a male would have a stronger claim. There comes a time in a man's life, Balinor, when he thinks of the future."

"So let me preserve the boy's life, sire! I told you of the prophecy. He is in peril!"

"Then should he not remain under my eye? Stay by my side, and we can protect him together."

The man called Balinor grew impatient now, his face darkening in anger. "That was not our agreement, sire! We wove the enchantments to deliver Ygraine back into your hands! In exchange, you promised the child born of that union to our keeping! I do not seek to remove your heir, only to raise him away from your court in secret, that your enemies may not find him! I mean him to return and inherit when his time has come!"

"What enemies are these?" asked the king. "You have told me but little."

"Sire, I have told you what it befits you to know. Do you not trust me? How many times have I preserved your life? You have the girl, and there will be other children born to you. Let them comfort you while I raise Arthur."

Now the second counsellor drew back her hood. It was the sorceress Nimueh.

"Balinor is deceiving you, O King," she said.

"Be silent, witch," said Balinor.

"I will not! I wove the enchantment with you, and now you seek to cast me aside, and take the boy for yourself! Hear me, Uther! Balinor knows more of the prophecy than he reveals. You will produce no more children, and neither will your lady wife, for she lies dying in her bedchamber."

"Is this true?" demanded Uther. "Ygraine... is dying? You must save her!"

"It is not possible," said Nimueh. "The spell we wrought to make your union fruitful demanded a sacrifice. Her destiny was to bear the Prince of the Prophecy, and pass from this world."

Uther stumbled backwards, his face pale. His brow contorted as he looked at Balinor. "Balinor? You knew Ygraine would die giving me a son? Yet you kept this from me? What do you want with my boy? What import has a son of my blood, that you would slay the woman I loved for him?"

Balinor bowed his head. "Sire, please believe me! All that I have done, I have done only to protect you! Mankind was not given to know the entire future, not without paying a heavy price. That is a burden we seers bear alone."

"So you set yourselves above mortal men, bending us to your will. I have loved you like a brother, Balinor, but now you have betrayed me! You and this witch have conspired to rob me of my wife!"

"She would not be your wife at all, but for us, Uther," said Nimueh. "Be grateful for the time you have enjoyed with her. For at least she gave up her life for a higher purpose, whereas the last time she was stolen from her husband, it was to gratify your own base desires."

The iron door to the chamber now burst open, and a tall woman entered, clad in a gown of shimmering green samite, and bearing the oaken staff of a priestess of the Old Religion.

The three occupants turned in alarm, Uther drawing his sword.

"How did you gain entry here?" Uther demanded. "Be warned, witch, I have had my fill of sorcerers today."

"You!" hissed Balinor, unsheathing his weapon also. "Why are you here?"

The green-kirtled woman laughed in a richly timbred voice. Pale as ivory was her face, and her hair fell in ebony waves. "Do you of all people ask me that, Balinor? I believe it is customary for _three _Magi to attend the birth of a king, is it not? For the Lady wears three Faces. The first oversees birth, the second protects the living, and the third… the third Face ushers souls from this world. Since Nimueh has played the boy's midwife, and you, Balinor, his godfather, should I not play his undertaker? Or did you two think to create Life without inviting Death, its shadow?"

"A price was paid to maintain the balance!" said Nimueh. "The mother's life has already been forfeited! You will have no more blood today, Lady. Avaunt!"

"Foolish little girl," replied the woman in green. "Such hubris you mortals have! A woman lives a mere century or two, and thinks she has penetrated to the heart of the Old Mysteries. You High Priestesses are the servants of the Old Religion, not its masters. Ygraine was only the first to die for this boy, by no means the last. Had you but known the numbers of your kind you have condemned to perish by bringing this prince into the world, you would have shuddered at your folly!"

Balinor moved in front of the king, shielding him with his cloak. "Fall back, sire! Do not heed her words! She means you ill! This is no ordinary sorceress, but a votary of the Terrible Queen!"

"Wait!" Uther barked. "You _all _mean me ill, I see that now. Men were right to curse witches. You serve only your own ends." To the priestess in green, he added, "I will hear you! For I can no longer trust my own magical advisors. Tell me your business here, but be quick."

The priestess laughed again. "I have come swiftly from the west, for I have seen portents and omens in the heavens. A comet appeared over the southern seas, and the morning star wandered from her sphere. I have glimpsed the Questing Beast abroad, and heard whispers of the birth of a great king. So I am come to pay homage. And I bear a gift for your children, Uther Pendragon, as is fitting."

"Take nothing from her," Balinor said. "You cannot trust her, sire!"

"It is not an object I offer," said the priestess. "But a gift of prophecy. Be warned, Uther! Your line is cursed for the sins of your forebears! Why do you rejoice at the birth of your second child, as though this were a day of glad tidings? These babes you love are the very seeds of your destruction! Your soothsayers have concealed these truths from you, for they fear reprisal.

"Your blood was fated to rule this land, but your impiety has tainted your inheritance. You have conquered by sorcery, and now you are condemned to be ruined by it. You have forced the Sybils to prophesy the future against their will. You have used the Dragonlords as your thralls, turning dragonfire on good men who opposed you. You wield steel burnished by dragonsbreath, cutting to pieces the princes of Cambria and Brython, even those of your own blood. You dare to fell the blessed oaks of the Great Religion, and cut down the servants of She Who is Three.

"For these abuses, your line is cursed to perish. The Goddess has placed enmity between you and Her servants. I tell you now that, as you have abused sorcery for your evil ends, it will rebound upon your kingdom and utterly destroy it. That precious daughter, who you so love, if she is ever permitted to learn magic, will turn against you, and slay you by means of enchantments. Aye, and sorcerers are fated to kill both your son and your daughter! Your children shall hate each other, and make your kingdom run red with rivers of blood. And no descendants of yours shall live, for your race is condemned to perish in your sin, and Camelot to fall forever!"

"Deceiver!" shouted Balinor. "_Bælcliwen, awrec hie!" _A ball of fire flared in his left hand, and he flung it at the sorceress, but she batted it aside. Raising her arms to the heavens, she transformed into a gigantic black crow, and flew into the air, inscribing a circle beneath the ceiling.

"Heed my warning, Uther!" the crow cried. "Ygraine was but the first to die for your sins! Your House and your people are ruined forever!"

And the crow plunged out of a window, and vanished from their sight.

Uther fell to his knees, pale as a ghost. "It is just as the Nazarin priest said. Sorcery is not to be trusted. I did not fear it, did not heed his warnings. I have profited by it, sought to use it. And now it has condemned all I love to death."

"She speaks lies, sire!" said Balinor. "Do not heed her words! She is an enemy of your kingdom, of all living things. She means to sow discord between you and your sorcerers, to drive a wedge between us that we may no longer strengthen you. She is one of the foes I warned you of. Let me bear Arthur away from here. Many who follow the Old Religion will seek to use him as a weapon against you. Some will seek to bind him, some to destroy him. He will need a sorcerer to protect him."

"No, Balinor!" Uther rose heavily to his feet again. "If my children are fated to die by magic, they will not go with you, or the witch!"

"What, then, sire? If you believe that prophetess' words, will you keep these babes here in Camelot, where there are more sorcerers than anywhere else in the land? How will you protect your children without me?"

Uther looked from Balinor to Nimueh. His sword lifted again, and pointed at the Dragonlord's chest. "There will be... no more sorcerers in Camelot. There will be no more sorcerers _anywhere_. You were given too much power over mortal men. And now your time is ended."

The chamber dissolved into the mist, and when the fog reformed itself, Arthur was outside the walls of Camelot.

Two men faced each other across a field of wildflowers, one red-cloaked, one armoured in black. Uther was still young, though kingship had silvered some of his golden hairs. The sable knight displayed the device of a white phoenix on his shield, which Arthur knew all too well.

"Sir Tristan," said Uther, "you do not understand."

"Draw your sword, Uther!" bellowed the sable knight. "I will not ask again, murderer! My sister's soul cannot rest while you yet breathe."

"You have been away many seasons. Let me apprise you of the situation!"

"Yea, I have been away, fighting for the Church and my king in the Holy Land. Had I but known your villainy, I would have remained here, protecting my sister from the demons in Brython… What need is there to slay the heathen in foreign climes, when men at home show themselves faithless to the Laws of Man and God? Draw your sword! Lady Ygraine will be revenged!"

"I never wished Ygraine to come to harm! I loved her!"

"Love? You call it love? Slaying a woman's husband? Casting enchantments to lie with her by stealth and deception? Going to her bedchamber, while her lord husband, your own sworn knight, lay bleeding in a field from your men's swords? Putting a bastard child in her belly before her husband's corpse was yet cold? That kind of love is not love, Uther, though men of your nature oft mistake lust, our basest vice, for love, which is Heaven's highest virtue! Villain!"

Sir Tristan unsheathed his broadsword and charged Uther, the earth trembling beneath the force of his charge. Uther drew his own blade, and as it emerged from its scabbard it sang with a sharp note that Arthur recognised. Uther's sword blurred like silver fire, parrying the Black Knight's thrusts with marvellous vigour, despite the slenderness of the blade. When it flashed out, it cut through the Black Knight's plate armour as though it were padded leather.

Sir Tristan lay on his back, blood seeping from every joint in his armour, staining the grass and the pale-petalled snowdrops a deep crimson.

"I curse you, Uther!" the knight spluttered. "May that bastard child you forced on my sister be your death, as he was hers! Gorlois and Ygraine died for the boy, and you will join them! May he be your ruin and the ruin of all your kingdom!"

"_No!"_ Arthur shouted.

* * *

He blinked like a man emerging from a daze. He was on his knees, his whole body sagging with fatigue. Forcing his right arm to move, he whirled the torch around him. "Enough of this! Do you think to unman me by dredging up the past? Come out and face me! No more jugglery and conjuring tricks!"

The mist parted, revealing the Druid youth once again.

"Now do you see, Arthur?" the youth asked. "How so many perished for your ill-omened birth? How your tainted bloodline must be cleansed?" He drew his sword, and advanced on the kneeling king.

"Whatever sins you accuse me of were committed before I was born!" Arthur said. "And that foul vision you showed me concerns your Lady Morgana, too! Does she not have Pendragon blood? If I am tainted, so is she!"

"Lady Morgana has purified herself," said the Druid. "She has repented of her House's sins, and proven her faithfulness to the Old Ways by slaying Uther. You had many opportunities to oppose your father's tyrannical rule, but you found it easier to persist in his evil.

"And Lady Morgana has undergone the purification rite of the High Priestesses, and been taken into the bosom of the Goddess. As you are neither woman nor sorcerer, alas, those ways are barred to you. For the men of the Pendragon line there can be no redemption. For it was man's lust for power and for pleasure that led to your birth."

"I know you," said Arthur. "If you are the lad I remember, I spared your life once, risking my own to do so. Is this how the Druids repay compassion? Have I not sent peace envoys to the Druids, gambling with my own crown? Will you forgive Morgana and show no regard for me?"

For the first time, the Druid boy looked uncertain, his blade drooping in his hands.

"You have demonstrated that there is goodness in you, Arthur. But poison poured into a golden chalice is still poison. And guilty blood poured into a pure vessel is no less tainted.

"And it is not for your personal failings alone that I must slay you. There is another cause. There is a being called Emrys whose mind you have perverted. Emrys is a creature of magic, and his allegiance should lie with the Old Ways. His destiny was to purge Camelot of your kind and restore our people to the kingdom. But he has failed to do so. Time and again he has protected Uther's life, and yours, even turning on his own kind.

"Only one force can distort the destiny of a being as powerful as Emrys, and that is what the Ancients call Love. I speak not of mere lust of the body, which led to your birth, but of the highest virtue and passion of the Gods, which your own knights claim to serve in the Code of Chivalry. In Emrys' eyes, there is a force which emanates from you, that same force described by your Nazarin poet Dante, as the Love which moves the Sun and the other Stars. And either due to your Pendragon blood or your personal qualities, Emrys has anchored himself to you so resolutely that your bond has deformed his character and his powers, distracting him from his true path.

"When you are gone, your hold on Emrys will be broken. He will grieve, but over time his true nature will realign itself with the Old Ways. The Disir and the Goddess have some influence over him, and without your interference, he will submit either to them, or to a Pendragon more worthy of the throne."

Arthur felt unbearably tired. He knew magic was untrustworthy, and that the servants of the Old Religion only revealed shifting half-truths which suited them. He knew his sister was deceitful and had no cause to love him. And yet, he could not deny the force of the vision he had seen, any more than he could deny the shade of his mother which Morgause had summoned so long ago by her witchcraft.

_I knew my birth caused my mother's death, _Arthur thought. _But I did not know I was conceived against her will. Born of the blackest sorcery, and my father's lust for power, what an unnatural creation am I. How can a king sprung from such villainy ever rule a great kingdom? Is my existence not contrary to the laws of justice?_

The Druid boy's argument must have some merit, mustn't it? Arthur had known that his father had committed evil actions. He hadn't known that they had begun with his own conception. He had not known that his father's brutalities towards sorcerers had been born from a desire to keep Arthur safe. If the sacrifice of so many lives had been necessary to preserve the Pendragon kings, had it been a fair bargain for Camelot? If the Pendragons had done evil and the Goddess had condemned them to die, wouldn't it have been kinder to the people of this land to accept that judgement?

Arthur tossed away the dead torch. He thrust the blade of Excalibur into the earth and leaned on the pommel, slowly forcing himself to his feet.

"I admitted my guilt to the shade of a Druid boy, once," he said through gritted teeth, swaying where he stood. "That boy had been slain by my actions. Yet he still found it in his heart to forgive me. And you… you whose life I once preserved, cannot even find that small mercy in your heart."

There was some strange expression dawning in the Druid youth's eyes. Was it…. Regret? Shame? Concern for Arthur?

"I confess that I have bloodstained hands, as do all my ancestors," Arthur continued. "I am not alone in this. Morgana does also. So does your Goddess. I sincerely repent of the evil that I have done, and that I continue to do in my kingdom's name. But lying down and dying on the command of a woman whose hands are bloody as mine does not beseem me, either as a knight, or as a king.

"So be my executioner! If your Goddess truly guides you, and your cause is just, let her strengthen your hand, and may you strike me down. But you will have to slay me in combat, as a knight and a man, not as a cowering criminal waiting for the headman's axe!"

"I begin to see why Emrys loves you," said the Druid youth. "But your valour will not avail you." He raised his own sword.

Excalibur trembled in Arthur's hand.

"_Wæce hine!" _said the Druid.

All the strength went out of Arthur's body, and he collapsed to his knees again, Excalibur tumbling to the ground beside him.

"Must you resort to sorcery to kill me?" Arthur cried. "Craven!"

"You are armed with sorcery, too, my lord," said the Druid. "I will not be slain by a dragon-touched blade." The youth's footsteps drew close, and Arthur looked up and saw cold blue eyes, a raised sword. Then:

"_Ic þe heawe heofonfyre!"_

A sudden blaze of light blinded Arthur, forcing his eyes shut. He heard the Druid boy scream like a wounded animal, heard the staccato crash of thunderclaps. Something rattled the ground around them like a hail of arrows. Gusts of wind buffeted Arthur, blanketing him with the stench of burning leaves.

When his eyes had recovered enough to open, squinting against the glare, Arthur saw the Druid boy retreating, holding his hands above his head, where they had conjured a frail screen of light. The youth's limbs were trembling all over, and his body was smoking and bloody. His magic shield was cracking at the seams, and as Arthur watched, it was pummelled by another volley of lightning, which struck at the Druid from the heavens, like the wrath of the Thunderer of the ancient Palatines.

"I hate you, Emrys!" screamed the Druid, forced to his knees by this new onslaught of brilliant thunderbolts. Tears squeezed from his eyes. "Why do you protect him? He butchers our kind for sport!"

A voice answered him from the sky: "_Þe forbærne eallunga!"_

A circle of flames burst into life around the Druid boy, and rapidly contracted upon him, but he cried out: "_Ides Wealdes! Beyhd mec, scilde mec, afar mec!" _Mist rushed upon the Druid a heartbeat before the flames could reach him, enfolded him like the closing of a flower's petals, and dispersed. He was gone, scattered into nothing. The fire raged where he'd stood for a few moments more, then died away.

Arthur was still for a few moments, stunned by what had just transpired. The sudden silence and darkness were somehow more disorienting than the fury he had just witnessed. In the quiet, misty light he saw something descending from the sky.

It was a dove. It fluttered down on trembling wings and alighted on Arthur's shoulder. He felt the unnatural fatigue leaving his body, felt strength flow into his limbs for the first time since he had left the path in the valley.

This must be a sign, mustn't it?

He had just learnt what a monster he was, an abomination born of an unwilling mother. A killer even in the womb.

And now her sigil had appeared to him from the Heavens. The one time Arthur had seen his mother in person, even in Morgause's unnatural vision, he had felt nothing from her but the purest love. There had been no resentment, no blame for the manner of his birth. Hadn't she said to him that she regretted nothing, and loved him in spite of it all?

_Arise, Arthur._

He stood, and he felt he was under the wings of some higher power. It was familiar somehow, that sense of being watched over that he had felt many times in his adventures. It was not his mother, though now it came in her guise. It felt so close, so intimately connected with him, that he almost could not name or notice it, like it was his own shadow. Was this… Emrys?

The bird launched itself from Arthur's shoulder, and soared high into the air. It beat its wings, and the mist swirling around them was scattered, melting away like dew before the brilliance of the dawn. Rays of hot sunlight slanted into the forest, bathing the dove's feathers in white fire, warming Arthur through his mail.

Swooping down, the bird settled on a branch and looked back at Arthur expectantly. He crouched, retrieved Excalibur, and raised it in the air. Then he followed the bird as it flitted through the forest.

* * *

Around a sputtering bonfire, Arthur's earls and their knights were nursing their wounds. The bodies of the slain were being gathered up and conveyed to great piles to await burial.

"I tell you, you are mistaken!" said Archbishop De Croismere. He grimaced as a page tightened the sling which held his broken arm.

"We have had multiple reports, Your Grace," said Lord Broderick. "And we witnessed it with our own eyes! We may defer to your judgement on invisible things, but on a battlefield a knight must trust his own vision. We would have been slaughtered without the assistance of those other Druids."

"How else do you explain our survival?" demanded Queen Annis. "The hostile Druids were slaughtering us. It took them less than an hour to slay a fifth of our force. Why did they leave? Why do we remain among the living?"

"Why would the Druids fight among themselves?" retorted the Archbishop.

"I presume," said Queen Annis, "because there are different factions among them. And some of them were apparently responsive to King Arthur's overtures of peace, which is why they decided to render us aid in this battle. We know precious little about the Druids - those who remain living. Perhaps if King Uther and the Church hadn't destroyed so many of their bards and record-keepers-"

"If we hadn't carried out the Purge, my lady, you would be no queen today, but the thrall of some enchantress, who would have you chained like a beast in your own kingdom! And I recognise the garb of those Druids you consider our saviours - they were wearing the signs of the Catha!"

"If so, these Catha saved our lives," said Lord Gow. "And they are friendly to King Arthur. That suffices for me."

"You know not of what you speak!" said the Archbishop. "The Catha are feared even by the other Druids! They are the most powerful and vindictive of their high priests! They stand as judge, jury and executioner over mortal men, and employ occult tortures to extract the guilty confessions of their victims! They conduct obscene rituals, and can kill men with a word alone!"

"Nothing like our priests, then," muttered Queen Annis.

"If the Catha are allied with King Arthur, it is because they mean to manipulate him. They are serpents. 'Tis a black day for Camelot."

"They saved us. From their own kind," Lord Gow repeated. "If they mean us well, I say we treat with them."

"You cannot tame a wolf, my lord," said the Archbishop. "It will turn on you in the end. We learnt as much with the Saxons."

"I mislike remaining here," said Lord Penrose.

"The Druids' sorcery destroyed many of our supply carts," said Sir Elyan. "Men are gathering fresh firewood now. It is slow going. The mist remains strong outside the main path. We need more fire before we presume to move. And once we have enough men together we will prioritise seeking the king."

"Seek the king if you must," said Lord Pryde. "Surely those of us who are able to move must evacuate the valley immediately. We have unarmed family travelling with us! The king cannot gain anything from us all risking our lives."

"You know where your duty lies, Lord Pryde," said Sir Elyan.

The earls continued to converse in low voices, binding and dressing their wounds as best they could. Pages continued to clear the field of the debris of battle.

Suddenly, a cry went up from the southern flank.

"The king! The king!"

A wall of mist had shrouded the southern side of the valley, and now it parted, as though someone had drawn aside a curtain, allowing a flood of sunlight to daub away the gloom from the field. A knight in mail came into view, striding from the treeline, his hair gleaming gold in the newly admitted light, his sword blade shining like a silver beacon.

The knights of Camelot were the first to charge towards him, led by Sirs Leon, Elyan and Percival. They crowded around Arthur, embraced him with joy, and lifted him onto their shoulders, bearing him back towards the earls.

"Long live the king!" roared many voices. "Long live the king!"

Arthur seemed distracted, and demanded they bring horses and prepare to ride immediately.

"We need more torches, sire," said Lord Broderick. "The mist-"

Arthur silenced him with a shake of the head.

The lords, ladies and knights of Camelot mounted and fell into formation behind the king. Arthur lifted Excalibur, and far above the point of his sword, a white bird appeared, and soared towards the east. Deathly silent was the crowd as Arthur spurred his mount and began to ride, the nobles falling in behind him.

As they rode through the valley, the curtains of enchanted mist were scattered under the bird's wings, and cleft asunder on the edge of the king's sword. Murmurs of wonder broke out from the crowd.

"What manner of thing is this?" demanded Lord Broderick. "Can the king break the power of sorcerers by his will alone?"

"It is a sign!" exclaimed the ever-pious Lord Penrose. "The Archbishop said Providence would send us a token of our victory, and see how we have it! How rightly anointed is our king, who has the favour of the Heavens!"

The Archbishop remained silent.

When they reached the eastern rim of the valley, the last of the accursed fog was dispelled, and the white bird soared up the softly rolling green slopes. Down the sides of the valley came two riders. In the lead was a Nazarin bishop, his cassock and accoutrements blazing with holy glory. And behind him, lying slumped in the saddle, was a far more humble figure.

Arthur suddenly spurred his mount, breaking away from his knights, charging ahead to meet the pair, his horse's hooves kicking up clods from the green turf. Upon reaching them, Arthur halted sharply, threw himself from the saddle, and raced to the side of the prone figure. By the time the nobles and knights had caught up and dismounted, the king had removed the figure from the horse and was bearing him in his arms.

Merlin was white and trembling, and his brow was drenched with sweat.

"What ails the King's Herald?" said Lord Gow.

"He was struck by a Druid arrow," replied Bishop Rhodri.

"Bring a physician!" shouted Arthur. Two runners instantly broke away, riding back to the supply lines. "And someone help me get him to a pavilion!"

As Sirs Elyan and Percival went to the king's side, the Royal Herald suddenly put out his hand and gripped the king's arm tightly. His eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids, and a harsh whisper issued from his lips.

"_Gefind Arþur. Þæt wæs god cyning. Him þæs liffrea, wuldres wealdend, woroldare forgeaf."_

"What is he saying?" said the Archbishop sharply. "What language does he speak?"

Lord Penrose cried out in wonder. "The King's Herald has the gift of tongues! It is why the king made him his voice, and anointed him, for he speaks with the Ghost! For what other reason did the white dove lead us out of the valley, and unto him and the bishop?" And, sinking to his knees, Lord Penrose crossed himself and bowed his head.

A hush fell over the crowd as, one by one, they followed Lord Penrose's example, and took to their knees, crossing themselves in reverence, until only King Arthur and the Archbishop were left standing.

At last, his eyes never leaving Merlin's pallid face, the Archbishop knelt also.

* * *

**A/N:** Hi everyone. I know I've been promising a long author's note for a while. This is not that note, but a different very long one!

I was unhappy with this chapter and tried rewriting it a few times. I'm still not happy with it, but decided to push through and get it out of the way, so that I could continue the story.

I've taken a hatchet to the backstories of the characters in this chapter. I know I'm not a professional author, and am writing this as a hobby, and don't have a lot of time to devote to planning. But if you've read this far, that's over 50k+ words of your time and interest that you've invested. So while I don't expect you to agree with all my creative choices, I do feel an obligation to explain that I've at least thought about them.

I dislike the infodump in this chapter, and wanted the backstory of Arthur's birth to be revealed more gradually. But I let Arthur know the details now, because I think they're important for his development, and for his and Merlin's relationship. The TV show gives Arthur a few crises of faith, but they mostly revolve around him feeling unworthy over misplaced trust in close advisors, and losing his kingdom again and again. I didn't want Arthur to keep making the same mistakes.

The show briefly touches on Arthur's guilt over causing his mother's death, but Merlin tells him Morgause's vision is a lie, and not to think about it (or grow from it!). And he never does think about it after that episode, except when he needs to explain why magic is evil.

This backstory was born when I asked myself: why did Uther purge magic from his kingdom? How can I give him a really convincing reason to hate magic?

Uther loves his children, and Ygraine. We have fairytale precedents for a king banishing something from his kingdom to protect his children. The most famous is perhaps Sleeping Beauty, where the king outlaws all spinning wheels and tries to keep his daughter locked away, so she can never harm herself. I saw this as a parallel to Uther keeping Morgana locked away, and teaching his children to fear magic.

I needed Uther to believe his children would die by sorcery, as his wife had. That meant I needed a soothsayer to attend Arthur's birth. I felt conflicted about this. The ancients used prophecies all the time, but as modern readers, we prefer to see stories progress through realistic character-driven action. It can feel cheap to have everything pre-written. But I consoled myself with the thought that the great dragon, the crystal cave, and the Druids have been locking Merlin into self-fulfilling prophecies since episode 2, and yet we still find the show enjoyable, so it's not necessarily a bad device.

I also debated having Balinor involved as Uther's magical advisor. It's quite nice that Merlin turned up in Camelot with nothing to his name, and earned all his successes himself. So I worried that giving Balinor an important history, and having Uther and Balinor foreshadow Merlin and Arthur, would take away from Merlin's own merits.

Ultimately, though, I wanted to show the darker side to magic. We know Uther was a bad king, and that Arthur has to be better than him. I wanted Merlin to understand that sorcerers can make terrible mistakes, and abuse their powers too, even his father.

In Le Morte d'Arthur, Merlin is treated as benevolent, but is quite a manipulative figure. He orchestrates Arthur's birth, on the condition that he can steal Arthur away. He essentially makes Arthur king and guides him to all his victories. We can see Merlin falling into this role in Season 4 of the TV show, where his power is so great that Arthur is starting to look useless.

I put Balinor (with Nimueh's help) in the role of the magic manipulator who wanted influence over Arthur from birth. I feel this provides another legitimate reason for Uther to fear magic, and for Merlin and Arthur to eventually realise they need a healthier relationship, a more equal partnership, than their fathers. Uther might have been a tyrant, but if he was surrounded by sorcerers so powerful they could bend kings to their will, maybe his behaviour was more rational.

Regarding the prophetess, I found it hard to explain why a magician would reveal a prophecy to Uther that would result in all the sorcerers within his kingdom dying. I settled for hinting that the sorceress is a foreigner. I gave her some attributes of the Irish goddess Morrigan. Since the Irish and Welsh were sometimes in conflict, it would make sense that an Irish goddess of war and chaos would stoke a civil war within Camelot to weaken Uther's powerful kingdom.

Conversely, the soothsayer might have been a local. In Celtic myth, individual druids could serve different kings, and some of Uther's enemies probably had their own sorcerers, who would have been happy to see his kingdom fall. And finally, many creatures of the Old Religion (hi Kilgharrah) seem callous about human life, so maybe the priestess is a local, but doesn't care about her fellow sorceresses, only her role according to Destiny.

I was unkind to Arthur here, because I combined his TV show birth (his mother's life was taken in exchange for his) with his literary birth (his father killed his mother's husband, and used magic to deceptively sleep with her). So he feels doubly guilty. But I did it for a reason.

In the earliest, pagan tellings of Arthur's story, his death doesn't really need an explanation. Sometimes Fate is cruel, even to the gods. However, the later Christian authors believe Fate is under the command of a benevolent higher power. For a perfectly just and virtuous king like Arthur to fall, there must be some element of judgement present.

The ideal of virtuous love, and its opposite, infidelity, frame Arthur's life, from the French Vulgate cycle onwards. Arthur is conceived in an act of lust for another man's wife. Arthur sins by lying with his half-sister Morgana and siring Mordred. Eventually, Arthur's own wife Guinevere is unfaithful, which leads to a civil war that destroys Camelot. Christian readers would have been familiar with the story of King David, who lusted for Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite. David arranged for Uriah to be killed, and married Bathsheba. God turns against David after this, and his House is cursed. David's children eventually fight each other in a civil war.

The parallels, and the moralising about the sexual ethics of kings, were probably clear in a courtly environment. The French authors idealised romantic, impossible love, even the adulterous kind, but part of its beauty was that it was tragic, and would eventually result in a lover's destruction.

In the show, I didn't get a clear sense of why Arthur had to die. Was it the blind vicissitudes of Fate, which the pagans accepted? Was it punishment for his father's genocide? Was his sin not legalising magic (this seems to be the explanation we are offered in season 5)? Was it something more personal, like not appreciating Merlin, or failing to understand the highest virtues, such as love?

On the symbolism of doves, I thought it a nice coincidence that Arthur's mother's brooch has a dove (and Celtic cross?) on it. St David, the patron saint of Wales, is often depicted with a dove on his shoulder, because his gift of eloquence is said to come from the Holy Spirit. A dove also appeared to Mary to symbolise the Virgin Birth, because she was impregnated by the Holy Spirit, rather than a human. Mary's own conception, like Christ's, was immaculate and without sin. That takes on an ironic significance here, because Arthur's conception was far from immaculate, since he was conceived in lust and basically adultery, through deceitful magic.

Doves were also sacred to Aphrodite, as the owl was to Athena. In later Greek myth, when Eros shot someone with dove-feathered arrows, they would fall in love. When he shot them with owl-feathered arrows they would recover, because Wisdom is the cure for Love. Considering how often Merlin makes bad decisions in favour of Arthur and against his own better judgement, I think a dove is a fitting messenger between them.

Thanks for reading this essay and bearing with this chapter. I have more to say but it's best if I stop here. Hopefully this arc will be finished soon. One more chapter I think!


	15. Amor Fati

"Ceres first turned the earth with the curved plough; she first gave corn and crops to bless the land; she first gave laws; all things are Ceres' gift. Of Ceres I must sing. Oh that my song may hymn the goddess' praise as she deserves… "

\- Ovid, _Metamorphoses 5.341. _AD Melville's translation.

* * *

Hunith scattered the last handful of her barley seeds over the soil, and upended the basket with satisfaction.

"Last one for the day," she called. "Ric'll be pleased with how much we got done. Let's join the girls."

Bertrade, absent-minded, nodded in acknowledgement.

The sun was just slipping under the horizon, and in moments it would be too dark for sowing on the field. But Hunith, who hated to waste a second of daylight, would always strive to outdo herself, so that the ploughmen would complain they never had a moment's rest trying to stay ahead of her.

It was a short walk back to the village. They had brought torches with them, but memory allowed the two women to stroll in the deepening gloom, avoiding the roughest patches and pitfalls as they travelled. As they went, they wrapped themselves in threadbare shawls against the wind, the warmth brought by the day's labour beginning to fade.

"Dyfan was well pleased with the new ox and plough we bought," Hunith said. "First he said it'd beggar us, that we'd go hungry after paying the lord's taxes. But with the extra ploughing we'll have fewer fields lying fallow. Our yield will be that much better. He bought me a drink last Thursday, said he should have listened to us sooner."

"The lord'll just take that much more," said Bertrade.

"Aye, but we'll have more left over. And Caitlyn says her sows are due soon. She said she'd give me a piglet for stitching that dress for her Maygan last Midwinter. Imagine that, us raising a pig. Merlin wouldn't be happy if he were here. He hates rearing animals for meat. Remember how much trouble he gave me that winter when Old Man Anlaf gave us that calf of his?"

"I remember," said Bertrade.

Hunith drew closer to Bertrade, and slipped her arm through the other woman's. "You're thinking of him, aren't you?" she said quietly.

"Every spring," Bertrade replied. "I know you're without your son too. But at least Merlin lives."

"Will was like a son to me also. And better than a brother to Merlin. He made my boy's life that much easier, when none of the other bairns around here had a kind word for him."

"He was like that."

"He was a special lad."

It had not gotten easier over the years. At first Bertrade had refused to leave her house behind, for it held so many memories for her. Eventually she had agreed to live with Hunith, for they were both without husbands, and now without sons, and it was less of a struggle to make ends meet living together.

As they headed towards the tavern, in reality little more than a large house, Hunith glanced up the street for a cart. She felt guilty doing so in front of Bertrade, but she had not heard from Merlin for so long. With the winter snows long gone, there should be more traffic coming up from the southeast, and with it mail from Camelot.

She remembered each of his letters vividly.

_Dear Ma,_

_I have tried to do as you say and make the most of my time here. It is very difficult at times. I miss home. _

_I thought Ealdor was lonely and that I would be happier in a big city. I have met a lot of people here but is just lonely in a different way. In Ealdor no one liked me but they all knew me. Camelot is so big I could take a wrong turn and get lost at any time, and people look right through me. Still, it is nice to be able to disappear in a crowd. I suppose that's what I wanted. Maybe we have to lose ourselves before we find ourselves._

_Between Arthur and Gaius I don't get a moment's rest. I hate being a servant, and I don't see how it helps me. I know it is a privilege to work in the royal household but it doesn't feel that way at all. I wish Arthur could see me as I really am. Everything I do is for him, and he treats me with contempt._

_Gaius says I should read the works of the Stoic philosophers to learn the endurance of hardship. He's making me read Marcus Aurelius, on top of everything else. I told Gaius I could endure hardship pretty well too if I were the Emperor of Pallantium, and he clipped me around the head. _

_I miss Shadow and Mr Tubsy._

_All my love, and may the gods keep you,_

_Merlin_

And the very night Hunith had received that letter, she had taken out her painstakingly hoarded writing materials, sat herself down and penned a response in her careful hand.

_My son,_

_I'm sorry that Fate has ordained a life of hardship for you._

_Do not be discouraged, and do not falter when you encounter setbacks._

_You may remember Ealdor fondly through the rosy glass of memory, but I assure you, confining yourself to a small village is no guarantee of peace of mind. Life has a way of breaking our hearts, and pain can find us as easily within the bare walls of a hut as within the grand halls of a lord's castle._

_I say this not to dishearten you, but to steel you. You were meant for a great destiny, and with it comes greater hardship than the ordinary man is forced to confront. I want nothing more than to keep you safe, but not at the cost of robbing you of your own future. Trust yourself. You are more capable than you know. _

_When we were much younger, Gaius would also quote the Stoics at me until I was sick of them. But Seneca the Younger was correct, and men's souls need trials to be perfected, just as diamonds need friction to be polished. _

_You have a heart of adamant: unbreakable. I saw that when you were very young, and it was not even apparent to you._

_Even the menial role of a servant has a place in God's scheme. If Arthur is harsh towards his lessers, it is because he has not learnt the lesson of humility. _

_I know your gifts, my son. There may come a day when you hold more power in the palm of your hand than princes like Arthur. Therefore you must remember the days when you were a servant, and practise the humility and restraint that role gave you. Great men seek to serve other men, not to rule over them. There is true dignity in service to others, in fact the highest human dignity._

_At night, you must remember Arthur in your prayers. You must pray that his heart will open, and that he will grow into a wise, compassionate and generous king. You must pray that he looks beyond outward appearances and sees the worth of all his subjects._

_You must pray for Arthur, not because doing so will change him, but because it will change you. When we are forced to plead for someone else, we see the world through their eyes, and see their good points as well as their flaws. We remember not only the injuries they have dealt us, but the trials they must be suffering themselves._

_Show your gratitude to Gaius. Obey the king's laws. Honour the elders, the gods and the ancestors. And forgive Arthur his trespasses, as you ask your Heavenly Father to forgive your own._

_With all my heart,_

_Your Mam_

There had been no letters for a while after that one. Merlin was doubtless busy, but he also disliked being reprimanded or told what to do, even gently. He had ever been a strong-willed child, but also a good-hearted one.

Their breath steamed in front of them as they pushed open the doors to the tavern. The dirt floor was covered with old hay, and the walls were cold stone, but the hearth-fire blazed merrily, and they were greeted by friendly calls and raised tin mugs.

"What'll it be, mistresses?" asked Edild, the proprietor. Her grandparents had saved enough from selling good food and drink to rent the place many years ago. It was barely more than a two-storey house, but extravagant dining by Ealdor's standards.

"Just two mugs of hot ale, Edie," Hunith answered. She and Bertrade collected their drinks and made themselves comfortable at a bench lined with other women fresh from the fields.

Hunith was a good worker, and she treated all with kindness and fairness, so that most people in Ealdor spoke well of her. There were those, however, who had looked unkindly upon her son, and had said ugly things about him. She had thought the situation would improve after she sent Merlin away, but afterwards the same people slyly insinuated that she had gotten rid of him because she was so ashamed of his oddness. They would ask her mockingly how the fine lord was doing in the castle of Camelot, and why he never came home to his mother with anything to show for his labours. They were delighted to think that Merlin had failed, that he was as much an outsider wherever he went as they had made him feel in Ealdor.

Hunith knew that all small villages had small-minded people, so she held her tongue and gave such folk a wide berth, though it pained her to walk away mutely from those who slandered her son. She was much happier to spend time with those who had no malice in their hearts.

"We'll have a good harvest this season," said grey-haired, rosy-cheeked Winfrith to Hunith. "Glad we invested that silver like you told us to, luv. Even Dyfan was singin' your praises. That old goat should've admitted you knew better'n him ages ago."

"Hunith!" said Godrun excitedly, her fair curls bouncing. "You remember how my cousin Hilda moved to town, and now works for a lady in a fine manor? She got first pick of cast-offs from her mistress' wardrobe, and when she came through the other week, she gave me some clothes! There's wear and tear, but they're mostly in good condition, and so gorgeous, Hunith! A seamstress like you could do somethin' fine with that material! You must come by look at it soon! If you stitch me somethin', I'll look like a queen for May Day!"

"Aye, a queen," said Winfrith, her eyes twinkling, "and you're hopin' to make a king of young Cuthwin that night, no doubt."

Godrun flushed violently and denied the charge, while everyone laughed at her embarrassment.

A moment later, the pounding of hoofbeats became audible from without, and subsequently a heavy tread was heard outside the door. The tavern grew hushed.

The front doors swung open, and two men entered in the livery of Camelot, a herald and a knight. Hunith's heart leapt when she saw their colours.

"Where can I find the headman of this village?" asked the herald, in the flatter and more polished accents of the southern cities.

Everyone turned to look at Dyfan, who stood up with his cap nervously held in his hands.

"I'm the elder in this village, sir," he replied.

"Very well." The herald produced a large scroll, unfurled it, and began to read. "By the consent of the lord of the manor, and the largesse of the Royal Herald of Camelot, I hereby declare to the folk of Ealdor that coming season's taxes are paid in half, and that they will be free to keep the excess harvest for themselves."

The room fell into stunned silence.

The herald continued: "Where may I find Hunith, mother of Merlin, and Bertrade, mother of William?"

Hunith stood up, and Bertrade followed her example more slowly, trembling from head to foot.

The herald turned in their direction. "King Arthur's Herald, Merlin of Ealdor, by consent of the lord of the manor, has purchased the bonds of the Hunith and Bertrade aforementioned, and raised them to the status of freemen. Thus they are entitled to hold property. Relating to this, the deed to the house inhabited by the aforementioned Hunith has been transferred to her name. Wherefore both women may continue farming the adjoining land as freeholders, and claim the produce thereof as their own, or leave the land as they please, without the permission of the Baron."

The silence deepened.

"Beg pardon, sir… did you say King Arthur's _Herald?_" asked Hunith.

"Indeed, mistress. The King's Herald was appointed to his post a week prior. He is away on the king's business, but extends an open invitation to you to visit our capital, where you will be received with all hospitality."

The herald now approached Hunith and Bertrade, and deposited small pouches before each of them. He turned smartly on his heel and returned to the doorway, from which he made an elaborate flourish and bow to the entire room, an action copied with less finesse by the knight. Without further ado the pair quit the building, and soon the hoofbeats of their mounts were heard, retreating into the distance.

Hunith sat down, feeling all eyes upon her. She picked up the pouch before her and heard the unmistakable clink of silver.

"A round of drinks on me!" declared Edild suddenly. "And anythin' you want for the rest of the night, Hunith. No, make that the week!"

As the innkeep passed out tin flagons to the still-stunned inhabitants of Ealdor, Bertrade and Hunith looked at each other.

"We're free women," said Bertrade quietly. "What will we do now, Hunith?"

Hunith looked down at her work-blistered hands. She had dresses to sew, fields to seed, a roof to mend, wool to spin, a pig to raise… It had been a lifetime of serfdom, the bulk of her labour owed to the lord of the manor, and whatever scraps of time left over devoted to caring for her late parents, the less fortunate of the village, and then Merlin.

"I'm travelling, Bertie," she said suddenly. "I'm going to see things I never got to see. Things Balinor and Gaius told me of. Things I've only dreamt about."

"But Hunith! What about the harvest? And the house?"

"The harvest? Which the lord is only taking half of? We've got that many new fields tilled, I'd say they won't miss a pair of hands. And _our _house? You can look after it. Or come with me! We'll lease it out!"

"But where will we go?"

"To big cities, with walls of red stone! To the white cliffs of the western seas. To the basilica of St George, where the windows shine like rainbow fire, when they light candles for midnight mass. To the snow-capped mountains. To purple plains where dragons fly and dragonlords lie…"

* * *

"Though one were strong as seven,  
He too with death shall dwell,  
Nor wake with wings in heaven,  
Nor weep for pains in hell;  
Though one were fair as roses,  
His beauty clouds and closes;  
And well though love reposes,  
In the end it is not well."

\- Swinburne, _The Garden of Proserpine _

* * *

Seven graves had been dug in the green turf behind the churchyard. Seven plots in the ground had been put aside for the last of the men wounded in the valley, the last of the sick to fall. Proud knights all, in life they had been rewarded for their service with lands and titles. But in the end, this was all the land a man needed: a furrow, six feet in length.

Five of the graves had been dug facing the east, the direction of the Holy Land. The corpses had been dressed in simple white shrouds, and lowered into the ground with no equipment but a sword. In the Nazarin rite, not even the sword was required, for the afterlife was a place of peace and service. Men were buried with no armour, jewellery, tools or signs of rank, for all were equal in the Saviour's Kingdom. However, it was difficult to part a warrior of Brython from his blade, even in death. The Archbishop tolerated the swords as an unfortunate superstition, a necessary evil to lure the Brythons into God's afterlife, for these people were wayward sheep, who needed their bright talismans to light their way.

Two of the graves had been dug facing the north. The men therein had been buried not only with swords, but in full armour, and wearing the gold and silver rings of warriors, testifying to their prowess in battle. One of these graves also contained a small lute, and both had been furnished with caskets of precious coins. In place of crosses, the graves were marked with cairns made of small stones.

These two men had been anointed in the cathedral, but had requested the older burial rite. In Uther's time they had not been permitted to practice the Old Religion officially, but Arthur surmised they were loyal to the Old Ways in private. It did not concern him, for a man's afterlife was between him and whatever powers he believed in.

Even Uther, who had driven the Old Ways from Camelot, had not forbidden the older forms of burial. While he dictated men's conduct in life, he did not begrudge them their freedoms in death. In fact, the nobles of Camelot almost universally kept to the older practice of ship burial. This had been a great honour for their forefathers, a privilege of the ancient princes, and Uther had not been willing to surrender it. No God could have wrested Uther's sword from his grasp, nor could the Archbishop have convinced him to be buried in Earth rather than the Water which had received his ancestors' bodies.

If the Saviour took issue with it, He would have to explain to Uther at the Gates of Heaven that the Nazarin afterlife had no harbour to receive boats, and as there was no jousting, heavily armed knights were not permitted entry.

The image of that conversation amused Arthur.

When Archbishop De Croismere was finished presiding over the Nazarin burials, he looked askance at the other graves and remarked, "It is well they are armed, for they will have need of it where the unbaptised go."

It was an unusually spiteful remark. Arthur knew the Archbishop was a zealot, but he was also generally a man of gentle speech, who respected the sacrifices of the dead. The Archbishop must be sore over the Druid attack in the valley, and the fact that Lord Gow and Arthur had allowed the Druidess Finna to tend to Merlin's wounds, in express defiance of the Archbishop's orders. To De Croismere this must appear provocation upon provocation, and the atmosphere between the priest and the king was chilly.

Now that Arthur thought about it, he realised he did not know where the unbaptised went. To Hell, presumably, according to the Church, but what did the Old Religion itself preach?

The Old Religion had been everywhere in Camelot once, and it remained strong among the peasants, but Arthur had not been permitted to hear anything of it. Uther had developed a terrible fear of its teachings. He had told Arthur that the priestesses of the Old Religion had wielded too much power over mortal men, that they had taught the people to love every kind of sorcery and debauchery, and had weakened Camelot from within, so that it had fallen to enemies magical and ordinary. Given the visions Arthur had seen in the valley, he now understood why his father had developed such a revulsion for magic and the Old Ways.

Nazarins were buried towards the East, for that was where the Saviour had been buried and risen again to life. He would reappear there one day to wake the dead on the Day of Judgement. But what was special about the northern direction?

"I wonder what lies to the north," Arthur mused aloud. "The baptised are buried facing the Holy Land. Do the keepers of the Old Faith believe the Otherworld lies in the northern lands?"

"The Isle of the Blessed," said Elyan. He stopped and looked at Arthur uncertainly. "I'm sorry, sire. My father would tell us stories sometimes."

"No, go on," Arthur said. "I'm curious. I was allowed to hear precious few of those tales."

"There are… hidden islands around Brython. Islands filled with magic and wonders. Sailors see them on misty nights, under the right stars. It's said that a long time ago, a great race came out of the islands to the north and west. They were tall and fair, and wielded weapons such as the men of Cambria had never seen before."

"Tall, fair sailors from the north? They sound like Vykings."

"No, my lord, this was long before them. Before the Saxons, or even the Palatines. This was when the oldest men lived in Brython, in the dawn times. The visitors from the islands were not mortal men, but a race of ancient beings, with ships so cunningly wrought, they were like floating castles on the sea. Some say they were the Sidhe. Not the little elves, but their cousins, an ancient and powerful clan of the Fair Folk.

"They fought a great war with the first men, and took much of our lands for themselves. But eventually a concord was reached between our peoples, and the Old Race intermarried with us, and ruled over us. Some say they were eventually forced to leave our world by a great calamity. Others say that some among the Old Race taught men to work iron, and then we blacksmiths rebelled, and made iron weapons to drive the Old Race back to the land of Faery.

"Some of them went back across the sea, to those islands under alien stars. Some remained in this land but fled into lakes, under hills and mountains, into deep forests, beneath old burial mounds and the tombs of their ancient kings. The Druids raised stones of power to seal them away, but the doorways to the Otherworld can still be found in those old places. They say… the royal houses of Cambria still have some Fey blood in their veins from that invasion."

"Even the Pendragons?"

"That is what the old wives say, my lord."

"And you think these islands, these gateways to strange stars… are what the Old Religion says we must pass through on our way to the next world?"

"Perhaps, my lord. I also heard my father say that souls are born into this world again and again, with the turning of the Great Wheel. He said our souls could live many lives on this Earth in different forms. That is why the ancients sometimes burnt bodies, to release the soul, so it could find its new birth. Perhaps when a person's Fate has exhausted itself, the soul tires of being reborn in this realm and passes on to something greater."

"How fascinating. I wonder why my father never mentioned those tales of our House's origin."

Archbishop De Croismere appeared at the king's shoulder, his dark eyebrows contracted. "I presume, sire, he thought there were more important points to your education than filling your head with irreligious fables."

"Are they merely fables, Your Grace?" asked Elyan. "There are many strange creatures and beings within Brython. We have not seen the Fair Folk or the giants for many ages, but there are more wonders in this island than can be easily explained. Do you discount their existence so readily?"

"Indeed I do not," replied De Croismere. "I could hardly deny the existence of such creatures when they are documented in the works of historians and churchmen. I have read Geoffrey of Monmouth's collation of sources relating to the kings of Brython. The texts claim that the first mortal men sailed to this island long ago, and found it in the grip of giants and sorceresses. The first men overthrew the giants and witches, and took their daughters as wives, and from that mixing sprang Brython's kings. A curious pedigree to boast of!

"I do not doubt such beings exist, only the romantic and fanciful retellings of their histories, which name them the 'Fair Folk.' There is naught fair about them! The Elves, the Eotens, the Orcs, and other misshapen beings, were all sprung from the line of Cain. When Cain committed the abominable sin of slaying his brother, his children were driven out from the company of mankind, and God marked them, that others might know them and fear them. Because they had spilt the blood of other men, they became monsters for their sins, their outward appearance now as twisted as their inward souls. From this fallen people descend the giants, fairies and other inhuman things, hateful to all, cursing God and afflicting His children."

Arthur said, "I had a right to know these stories. If the old kings of Brython were descended from sorcerers, it explains many things. It explains why Morgana has managed to rally so many supporters from the Old Ways to her side. She claims to be a Pendragon and a sorceress both, a throwback to our ancestors. In her they must see a return of the Witch-Queens of old. How can I counter such a claim? Especially when you and my father sought to keep me ignorant of it?"

"We kept you ignorant for a reason, for we did not wish you to be tempted. The Brythons are a stubborn people, persistent in their sin. Many, many times the light of the Saviour was brought to this island, but your ancestors turned their back upon it! You went whoring after other gods, bowing to witches and embracing fairies. You planted sacred groves and passed your children through the fires of Belenus. See how quickly Morgana was turned to evil. Do you think you are purer than her, sire?

"Morgana names herself a Pendragon, and your own sister, yet she seeks to destroy you. Like her ancestor Cain she thirsts for her brother's blood, for she is jealous that you were more pleasing in the eyes of God and King Uther than she was. How pernicious is the inheritance of Cain's mark, that not even the blood of the Lamb could wash off its stain! She hunted her own father, and would consume you too, like the crocodile that swallows its own kin. Such is the stock you are descended from! And this is the woman the High Priestesses deem fit to rule!

"Morgana fell to darkness first, for it was Eve that was tempted before Adam. But are you stronger than her, sire? Had you been raised from birth on these old wives' tales, with nursemaids and witches whispering prophecies of magic into your ears, dripping their venom into your soul, would you not have been misled first?

"Harden your heart against Morgana. I warned your father of her, for we knew of her nature at her birth. She was a child of your father's sin, and she was shaped to punish him. But he did not heed me, and had mercy on her. You must not make the same mistake. Resist her, and all her kind, old hags and Furies, and Sybils who prophesy of blackest magic. Do not be as frail as your ancestors, who backslid into sin time and time again, seduced by the promises of this island's gods. Take up instead the cross of your forerunner Constantine."

"I will give your advice consideration, Your Grace," said Arthur. "Though it did not save my father in the end."

"He would have been saved had he listened. A man cannot spit out his medicine, then blame the physician if he dies."

A page came swiftly running over the green sward, and stopped before the king, bowing deeply to him.

"Sire, your Herald has awakened! His physicians say he may receive visitors."

"How was he?" asked Arthur.

"They say he is well."

Archbishop De Croismere took hold of Arthur's arm. "Be wary, sire," he said in a low voice. "You have allowed your closest servant to be tended by a Druidess, an Avramite, and a bishop who is sympathetic to the pagans. You know not what charms were worked to restore the Herald to health. You must be cautious of those who have sway in your court. The most powerful sorcerers have an ability called the Influence, by which they may subtly shape the minds of men around them, merely by their presence."

"And what was the alternative, Your Grace? Allowing Merlin to die?"

"Sire, the death of the body is a sorrow, but a temporary one. Whereas preserving life by evil means leads to the death of the soul, which is for eternity."

"Then say an extra prayer for me, Your Grace. For I would sooner follow Merlin into damnation than walk in God's kingdom without him."

De Croismere released Arthur. "I will indeed pray for you, sire. These are not the words of a rational man, but one whose heart is too naive, whose affections are too easily given. That Merlin has an undue hold on you, which I am at a loss to explain."

The Archbishop watched Arthur and his knights depart with flinty eyes.

* * *

"[Zeus] said: 'Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two…' After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one… so ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man…

And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself... the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell...

'Do you desire to be wholly one; always day and night to be in one another's company? So that being two you shall become one… as if you were a single man?'—there is not a man of them who… would not acknowledge that… becoming one instead of two, was the very expression of his ancient need. And the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love.

There was a time, I say, when we were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind God has dispersed us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into villages by the Lacedaemonians. And if we are not obedient to the gods, there is a danger that we shall be split up again…"

\- from Aristophanes' discourse on Love (Eros) in Plato's _Symposium_, Benjamin Jowett's translation.

* * *

As Merlin slowly came to, he found himself lying in deliciously warm softness. His limbs were filled with that deep stillness that only came from the most wonderful nights of sleep, those experienced but once in a year. Nor was it his body alone. His spirit felt permeated by a clear tranquility that it had not enjoyed in months, perhaps more.

He opened his eyes, and saw the canopy of a fine bed. Turning his head, he saw hangings of scarlet and gold. For a moment he thought he was lying in Arthur's chambers, but then he noticed the animal on the shield: a lion!

He sat up in shock.

"Merlin?"

He turned his head the other way. Three figures stood in a row, watching him. The scene was almost comical. Merlin took in their appearances.

"A bishop, a Druid and an Avramite," he said at last. "Shouldn't you three be walking into a tavern? Is this the setup for a jape?"

"I'm glad your sense of humour is intact, Merlin," said Bishop Rhodri reproachfully. "We have been worried about you."

Merlin looked around again. "Have we been captured by the Normans?"

"The Normans?" replied the bishop in surprise. "No. I hardly think you'd be in a feather bed. They'd put us in cells."

"But the lions..."

"These are the lions of House Gow. They're red on gold. The Norman lions are gold on red. Really, Merlin. Call yourself a herald? Try to keep up."

"They're in the wrong position, too," put in Elam helpfully. "The Gow lion is standing up. _Rampant_, I think it's called. But the Normans' are lying down."

"Yes, very true," said Rhodri. "_Regardant_, I believe."

"It's not _regardant,_" Merlin said peevishly. For some reason, he was vaguely offended at Rhodri casting aspersions on his heraldic knowledge. "The Norman lion is _passant guardant_, if you must know. That means it's walking on all fours and looking directly at you. And it's not gold on red, it's _d'or _on _gules. _Everything must have a Frankish name, since they invented heraldry, and all of human civilisation, at least in their opinion. And I haven't had any lessons in heraldry yet, you know. But you're right, I've polished that many knights' shields, I should have remembered the differences better."

"Yes, yes, well, never mind all that," said Rhodri. "How do you feel?"

"I feel… wonderful." Merlin stretched. "I haven't been this well rested in ages. I feel like my soul is refreshed. I… had a strange dream, though."

"Dream?" said Finna sharply. "What dream?"

"I was on a river somewhere, crossing the surface on a ferry. But I fell over the edge, and sank into the water. And this big creature swallowed me, a giant fish. But it spat me out again, onto the shore. I didn't know where I was. The country was strange, filled with pale light, and pale fields of crops. And there was a Lady in White. Waiting for me. She-"

Merlin shivered suddenly.

"I wish my sister were here," said Elam. "She was skilled in dream interpretation. Though she did not like to advertise it, since such talents are not always looked on with kindness." He stole a glance at Rhodri.

"It seems like a positive omen to me," said Rhodri. "The fish swallowed you up, but it spat you out again, as it did Jonah. It must represent death and resurrection, and thus your miraculous return from the deathly swoon caused by the poison."

"I think not," said Finna. "Good bishop, tell me, what secret sign did the Nazarins use to recognise each other, when they were persecuted by the Palatine Empire?"

"Well, there were several. Including… the fish."

"Therein lies the meaning of the dream. Merlin is swallowed up by the gigantic fish, which here represents the Church." She looked at Merlin intently. "You must be on your guard, for it is clear the Archbishop means you ill. This dream signifies his intention to consume you utterly."

"Well," said Rhodri, "in the dream, Merlin is spat out again, without harm! Surely that bodes well?"

"Perhaps. But he was not spat out onto the sunlit shore. He washed up into a twilight land, and he knows the Lady who rules that place, for she has marked him already. And the dream did not show if he escaped."

"Then we must see to it that he does," said Rhodri firmly.

"On that, at least," replied Finna, "we are agreed."

"Please, Finna," said Merlin, massaging his temples. "I felt so at peace for a minute. I felt like I'd just woken from the dead. And now you're preparing me to go through it again? I don't want to hear any more prophecies. Let the dream just be a dream."

"It was not I who marked you thus," said Finna. "Nevertheless, you require rest."

"Well… thank you for healing me. All of you. It was Finna who knew how to counteract the Druid poison, yes?"

"I cannot take all the credit," said Finna. "The Beyn Avrami youth has the touch of his people. And the bishop ministered to you as well. But it is true that I best understood the poison." Privately, in Merlin's mind, she added, _And you survived as long as you did due to the Druid magic in your veins. Cling to it, Emrys. Master it. Become one with this part of your gift. For others shall use our ancient Druid magic against you, as you have seen._

Merlin nodded. "Thank you," he said aloud. "All of you. But if we are in Lord Gow's keep, then… the whole court is here? Where's Arthur? I'm surprised the Archbishop let you attend here openly, Finna."

"The king is on his way," Finna replied. "And the Archbishop was most displeased. However, Lord Gow is still lord in his own earldom. And he welcomed my assistance, provided I came alone. Moreover, popular support for you is beginning to spread among the people. Indeed, it is strongest among the Archbishop's usual supporters."

"Popular support?" Merlin's forehead wrinkled. "Support for what?"

"There were… certain occurrences in the valley as the king fought the Druids," said Rhodri. "Mysterious signs and portents. Suffice to say, some people believe an extraordinary bond exists between you and the king, and that you bear some mark of Heaven's favour."

"_Favour?" _Merin spluttered. "Have they looked at my life?"

"Up until now, probably not," Rhodri said. "However, the common folk, and the pious nobility, enjoy stories of the humble being uplifted by God's hand."

"I suggest you use this to your advantage," said Finna. "You will need every defence against your foes at court. For the people also enjoy stories of the prideful being cast down."

"What are they saying about me, exactly?" Merlin pressed.

They heard the tramping of boots and the din of raised voices from outside.

"Perhaps His Majesty should explain it to you," said Finna, glancing in the direction the noise had come.

A moment later, the doors swung inwards, and Arthur entered, wearing a dark doublet and breeches. Others were crowded behind him, including his knights, but they hung back. The king's eyes fixed upon Merlin.

"Is he able to speak?" asked Arthur.

"You'll have more trouble getting him to stop, sire," said Rhodri.

"Then I would speak with my Herald alone. Leave us."

Rhodri and Elam bowed, and removed themselves from the chamber.

Finna clasped her hands together in Merlin's direction. "_Magna Mater!" _she said imperiously. "Lady, Victorious, Mother of Gods and Emperors! I invoke thee! Guard thy son from his foes."

Arthur winced. "Must you do this in front of me? You could make my life easier."

Finna inclined her head towards the king, almost apologetically, then swept away. The doors were closed behind her.

Arthur sat himself on a chair by the window.

"You're wearing black," Merlin observed, turning in bed to follow Arthur's motion. "How many men died?"

"Don't worry about that now. The important thing is that you lived."

"So it was many. If I could have gotten there quicker-"

"Don't you dare blame yourself for this! This retaliation was many years in the making. It began before you were born. If anything… I'm the one at fault."

"How are you at fault?"

Arthur shook his head. "So she healed you, then? Drove out the poison?"

"They all helped. They could have been tending other men instead. Good men."

"Will you shut up for one minute? God, I preferred when you were a coward. At least I knew you then. This... hero... is damn annoying."

"I was never a coward."

"I know that," said Arthur quietly. "It was just easier to believe that you were sometimes. I was my father's only heir, the prince carrying the whole kingdom on his shoulders. Had I admitted to myself that a servant… a nobody… had far more courage and strength of character than I had... We all tell ourselves lies sometimes, to keep ourselves going. But I'm tired, Merlin, and I want there to be truth between us."

"You _are _special, Arthur. That's not a lie."

"Maybe I am. But not in the way I wished to be. Enough of me. My page said you were fully healed. I expect you to rest, of course. And Merlin… " Arthur's hard blue eyes locked onto Merlin's. "Don't do this to me again."

"Do what? Obey your orders?"

"Make me fear that you'll die."

"Can't promise that. Death has a way of finding you, Arthur. Both of us, actually. But I'm still here."

"Yes," said Arthur. "You are." He got off the chair, and walked with meandering, uncertain steps, almost like a toddling child's, and settled on the end of the bed. Merlin drew his legs up and hugged his knees, watching Arthur.

"I found something out," Arthur said. "About my birth. Something that… no one else knows."

"Things have changed between us," Merlin said. "I can feel it in the wind. Like the Wheel of Ages is beginning to turn. Can you?"

"Merlin, please just listen. I wasn't merely born of magic. I was born of evil sorcery. The witch Nimueh conspired with my father and a man named Balinor to bring-"

"Balinor?" interrupted Merlin.

"Yes, you remember the name, don't you? He was the Dragonlord we sought aid from during the great dragon's assault on Camelot. It turns out he and my father knew each other before that. They were brothers-in-arms. And… they both had a poor grasp of morals in affairs of the heart."

"Balinor and Uther were… like brothers?"

"Yes, and will you stop repeating everything I say like a stunned parrot, Merlin? There was some prophecy regarding a son born of Uther and Ygraine. My father wanted my mother for his own. And Balinor and Nimueh wanted my birth to occur so they could take me away and raise me as a puppet. Even if it meant… forcing my father on my mother against her will. And killing her to give me life."

A tear welled from Arthur's left eye, the one closest to Merlin, and escaped to slither down his angled cheek. It was like watching a raindrop, teetering and slipping on the contours of a marble statue's face. Merlin couldn't move his eyes away. _Why am I looking at Arthur's cheek, when he is sharing something so horrible with me? What is wrong with me? Say something, idiot._

"Arthur… how did you find this out?"

"It was a vision, showed to me by a Druid. From Morgana."

"But Arthur-"

"_No, _Merlin! I know what you're going to say. That the visions are false, that witches can't be trusted. Why do you always make excuses for me? Why can't I blame myself when the blame is just? Why do you think I'm so fragile that you have to cosset me and guard me from the truth?"

"Listen-"

"No, _you _listen. Morgana's grudge against me has merit. Her goddess is trying to slay me because my father committed real wrongs. It was to protect _me _that he outlawed magic, despite using it himself. I am the product of all Uther's lust and hypocrisy. I am... a monster that was created from his thirst for power, like some unnatural golem. I shouldn't have been born. Can you tell me otherwise?"

Merlin waited for a few moments. "If you'll hear me now, my lord - I wasn't going to defend the manner of your birth. I wasn't going to say that your father was right, or even that you are free from his sins. He did raise you. But you are your own man.

"Arthur… none of us can choose how we come into this world. We can only choose what to do once we get here. We cannot choose what we are born, however much we might fight it or wish it were otherwise. Believe me, you're not the only man who's thought himself a monster, a mistake of nature, who's spent nights hoping and praying to be something other than what he was. But sometimes even Nature's cruellest flaws have more beauty in them than all the designs of Man. I don't say this to console you, but because I've come to believe it myself… because I needed to believe, to find the strength to continue taking breath.

"I'm not a philosopher, or a theologian. I do not know why this material world is broken, full of suffering and impurity. In a way, all men are born in sin, and you're not so unique. For whatever reason, we are condemned to wander in this vale of tears until our deaths. But… the Platonists say that the material world is not just degraded. That even here our souls can experience Truth and Beauty, that we can glimpse the splendour of Heaven reflected in the depths of our souls… and mirrored in the faces of our true companions."

Merlin could see his words were having an effect, bringing Arthur back from his grief. Arthur only wore this expression sometimes, and only around Merlin. His kingly mask dropped, and he looked so open and vulnerable. He almost never really listened to Merlin, but when he did, he well and truly did, and Merlin's words penetrated straight to his heart. Emboldened by this success, Merlin scrambled to Arthur's side and put his arm around the king's shoulder. "Arthur. I don't pretend to know the mind of the Goddess. But if she thinks the world would be a better place without you, then she's mistaken. And I will tell her that to her face.

"I'm not trying to deny the horror of what was done to your mother. But even in the visions of her, she never blamed you, did she? She had cause to resent you most of all, but she still loved you, and forgave you. Why can't you extend that forgiveness to yourself?

"You are exactly the king Camelot needs. We don't need a ruler born stainless and pure, with no human flaw. In your kingdom, all people will see that they have a hope of redemption. Even if one is born a servant, or a sorcerer, or a child of adultery, or of wicked magic, a life of goodness and meaning is still possible. Your example will prove that. You are of noble blood, but more importantly, of noble character. And nothing can change that."

Arthur looked into Merlin's eyes for a long time, as if he had never seen them before.

Merlin used his sleeve to brush away the water on Arthur's cheeks, leaving smeared salt-tracks behind.

"I never asked where all this wisdom came from, Merlin. Is it Gaius' books?"

"They helped. But some say that suffering is the only teacher worth having."

"And you have suffered a lot, haven't you? Often at my hands, which I regret. Though… if all your wisdom came from suffering, perhaps I was doing you a favour. Maybe I should be a little harsher with you."

Merlin's face darkened, and he pulled away, but Arthur grabbed his arm, saying, "It was a joke, Merlin," with a laugh. But Merlin still flung himself backwards, and Arthur came with him.

Then, somehow, Merlin was lying sprawled back in the sheets, and Arthur was above him. The sunlight from the window set Arthur's hair ablaze, and when he smiled his eyes scrunched up, and delightful crow's feet appeared at the corners of his face. The two men looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. There was something sacred in this room, in this moment. Every single impression was carved into Merlin's mind: the heat of the sun, the warm comforting smell of expensive sheets, the yielding pressure of the mattress at his back, the scarlet hangings framing Arthur's face, the king's eyes... It was as though this instant had crystallised in the stream of time, and it felt to Merlin like something terrifying and fated had been put in motion.

And then the doors opened, and someone entered the chamber.

"Sire," said the Archbishop of Camelot coldly. "You are needed in the great hall."

* * *

**A/N: **Notes for this chapter:

**Cain: **I didn't invent the idea of magical races being descended from Cain. I think it was invented by the poet/s who wrote Beowulf (at least, that's where I first encountered the idea. Maybe the poet was drawing on a wider Germanic tradition).

Beowulf is, of course, the most famous poem in Old English. The poet was writing for a Christian Anglo-Saxon audience, but Germanic poetry still contained many pagan elements. When describing the origin of the monster Grendel, the poet assumes the existence of numerous magical races. The poet tries to explain the existence of Germanic fairies and giants by referencing the Hebrew creation story in the book of Genesis. (We now know that the Hebrew creation story is modelled on an older Babylonian one involving multiple gods. Genesis dates from the Babylonian Exile period of the Israelites. So this type of reinterpretation between cultures is the norm, really.) It was quite a stroke of genius. The monster Grendel, along with the Elves, Orcs, Eotens (Jotuns), etc. are all said to be descended from Cain. The relevant lines are:

_siþðan him scyppend forscrifen hæfde_

Since him the Creator had condemned

_in Caines cynne þone cwealm gewræc..._

With the kin of Cain that killing avenged...

_þanon untýdras ealle onwócon _

thence unspeakable offspring all awoke

_eotenas ond ylfe ond orcnéäs _

ogres (eotens), and elves, and creatures from the underworld (orcs)

_swylce gígantas þá wið gode wunnon_

Also giants, who strove with God (fought against God)

I have taken these translations from Benjamin Slade. You can find his excellent side-by-side, phrase-by-phrase translation of Beowulf for free online. Just look up Beowulf and his name.

If the stories of the Old Race of Brython seem familiar - tall, fair, magical sailors coming from the West - please know that I didn't plagiarise Tolkien! I based this on the Irish myth cycles, where the Sidhe sailed into Erin and founded the line of Ireland's kings. The Sidhe later went into hiding in the secret places of the island.

I am drawing from some of the same source material as Tolkien, so some of the mythology here will seem similar to that of the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit. However, I am an amateur dabbler, whereas Tolkien was a true master of Welsh and Anglo-Saxon myths. His Old English was so good, he could compose poems and riddles in Anglo-Saxon, and he published his own translation of Beowulf. There is much Welsh/Celtic and Germanic influence in his books (for one, the Hobbit obviously features a dragon, as a homage to Beowulf! As does this story. I love Beowulf too, though less much skilfully than Tolkien).

**Plato's Symposium: **I used a very lengthy quote about the origin of "soulmates" here, but it's still not 100% clear, so let me give some context. Aristophanes is referring to the creation myth of the "hermaphroditic" origin of mankind. He says that originally humans were "double people" with conjoined bodies, like conjoined twins. Some of us were double men, some double women, and some a combination of man and woman. Because our doubled ancestors were so powerful, we threatened the order of the universe, and the gods split us in half, into two separate bodies. But since then, we have always been looking for our second half to complete ourselves.

Most people were descended from conjoined man-women. So most men seek women to complete themselves, and vice versa. But some people were doubled men, or doubled women, and these seek the same type of person as themselves for completion, and this is the origin of homophilic love. Aristophanes provides a very robust defence of males who love other males in this richly satirical story.

Plato's Symposium is significant because it is a major inspiration for the Neo-Platonists, who disseminated Humanist and Neoclassical ideals during the Renaissance. This tradition has a lot to say about magic, philosophy, human dignity, and the virtues of love. In this view, even a respectable Christian can practice _Eros _as well as _Agape_, as long as the love, passion and desire one feels are pure and spiritual, because to love is to understand God's creation, the relations between his works, and love leads to knowledge of God's own nature .

**General note:**

Hi, everyone! Thanks for reading and keeping up with this story so far! I've been wanting to drop a more detailed Author's Note for some time re: the story development. This note is partially inspired by one of laorart's reviews (thanks for the feedback btw!). I realised that since I basically write stream-of-consciousness, and am introducing a whole bunch of characters, it may not be 100% clear where the story is headed and what bits are important to pay attention to.

When I started writing this story, I had a clear outline in mind, and that hasn't changed. Unfortunately, as I wrote, numerous subplots and secondary scenes kept suggesting themselves to me. While the final destination remains the same, the path I wanted to take to get there kept splitting into more and more paths walked by multiple characters, and part of me was trying to follow them all at the same time. Also, I'm curious about the backstories of certain characters, so flashbacks keep suggesting themselves to me, so part of me wants to follow them simultaneously in the past and the present, which… isn't going to work.

A few chapters ago, I looked back and realised I'd written thirty thousand words and barely progressed the overarching storyline. That freaked me out, because if I kept up the current pace, I would end up with a baroque monstrosity 900 000 words long, and sadly I was not planning that level of commitment for a single story.

I tried rattling off some shorter chapters and jumping from scene to scene a bit, to hit all the plot points I wanted to work in for later, but I'm not sure that snapshot approach was working. So now I've decided to pare this story down significantly and really focus on moving Arthur and Merlin forward.

I'm going to split this story into three smaller sections. Let me give you a rough outline of the Arcs.

Arc 1: Introduces Arthur and his nobles. Arthur rides east with his earls. Ends with Arthur and Merlin learning about the eponymous dragon in the North. We are very near the end of this arc.

Arc 2: Arthur and Merlin try to face the dragon threat. Merlin's magic is discovered. Hijinks ensue (horrifying, dangerous hijinks). Unable to overcome their enemies outright, Merlin and Arthur undergo Trials and Tribulations. Each of them, warrior and magician, must draw on new reserves of strength, and search for a solution to the dragon problem.

Act 3: Rapprochement. Hopefully the dragon threat will be dealt with. The ramifications for Arthur's kingdom will be felt. Arthur must find a way to accept Merlin's secret. Perhaps Arthur and Merlin will grow stronger, both individually, and in their relationship to each other.

I hope that keeping this rough outline in mind will help you follow the story and navigate the chapters (there may actually be an extra Arc in there if I can't fit all the scenes into those three). Unfortunately the pacing is going to be jerky, and some bits of this story may look sparse, as I work out what to throw out, which bits to keep in and really flesh out, etc. Also, some of Gwen's, Elyan's and the people of Camelots' actions later may seem kind of random, because I'm not sure I can develop them. Just imagine everyone doing… plot relevant things in the background, I guess?

Anyway, I really want to get to the end of this story, because I'm curious about where Camelot ends up. But also, the Merlin world is such a fertile playground for the imagination (a bit too fertile, maybe). I do want to write other stories in it. Now I know how many words I can wring out of a single plotline in Camelot, I will hopefully limit myself to something analogous to single episode in future, instead of such an ambitious story!

If you have any other questions, comments, suggestions etc., please let me know! Don't worry that you're telling me what to write or influencing me unduly, I'm very stubborn and will do what I feel like anyway, but I also take feedback on board. Knowing what things you like will be something for me to keep in mind while deciding what to include!

I'm interested to hear thoughts re: splitting the different story arcs into multiple stories. I was originally going to do that, because it would keep everything clearer in my head. But now I think it'll be easier for readers to follow if it all stays as one story, even if it's an intimidating several hundred thousand words long. Also, I want to do another long flashback episode for Merlin and Arthur. It could stand alone, but I might put it here at the beginning of Arc 2. I'd be happy to hear thoughts on that, as well as whether you'd want to see a few more episodes from the random storylines behind the scenes (e.g. Gwen, Gaius and people in Camelot) or you'd prefer the story not to get too bloated and really focus on Merlin and Arthur.

I want to thank everyone who has followed this story so far, especially those who have been kind enough to leave multiple or lengthy reviews. Though I'm feeling a bit more relaxed now, it is daunting to have committed myself to such a huge story, and knowing that people are enjoying it and would like to see more of it is helping me stay motivated. I appreciate each and every one of you.


	16. The Young Lions

"A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the tyranny of the nobility... arose from the consequences of the Conquest by Duke William of Normandy. The power had been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility… The whole race of Saxon princes had been extirpated or disinherited… nor were the numbers great who possessed land in the country of their fathers...

At court, and in the castles of the great nobles… Norman-French was the only language employed; in courts of law, the pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same tongue. In short, French was the language of honour, of chivalry, and even of justice, while the far more manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds…

Still, however, the necessary intercourse between the lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferior beings by whom that soil was cultivated, occasioned the gradual formation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the French and the Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render themselves mutually intelligible to each other; and from this necessity arose by degrees the structure of our present English language, in which the speech of the victors and the vanquished have been so happily blended together…"

\- Sir Walter Scott, _Ivanhoe_

* * *

A raven had arrived at Castle Montgomery barely half an hour earlier, warning of the approach of riders from the east.

Presently, the oncoming horsemen were glimpsed from a high wooden watchtower. From a distance they appeared one undifferentiated mass of knights and nobles, a flood of gold-and-crimson. But when they drew closer it became apparent that there were two breeds of lions in this crowd: men-at-arms riding under the pennant of House Gow, playing escort to a lordly company of Normans.

"Tell me what we know about these Normans," Arthur said, as Niel of Brecknock put the finishing touches on his clothing. The king had exchanged his sombre funeral garb for something more fitting the reception of a Norman embassy. The lions from across the sea were accustomed to elegance and splendour, and it would not do for them to see the men of Cambria at any less than their finest.

"But little, sire," replied Lord Gow. "They desire a conference with us, and the party is led by two of King Richard's siblings, Edward and Marguerite. 'Tis a great honour for them both to come to us, for Prince Edward has as much sway as the king while Richard is away in Gaul."

"Don't they take a risk by coming here?"

"They do, but scouts report that a large force of Normans is less than a day's ride beyond the border. The Princes of Normandy must trust that fear of retribution will prevent us from harming them."

"They take a gamble. If we imprisoned them, their armies might fall on us, but such a war would leave them exposed to the Saxons. Why are they here?"

"We cannot say, my lord. Though they likely received reports of our armies massing on this side of the border. Perhaps they fear an assault from us, and seek to delay us until their position is more secure."

"Perhaps," said Arthur. "But if they fear our hostility, coming in person, with such a small guard, is a rash action. My gut says something else is afoot. Prepare the great hall to receive them. We shall host them anon. Lead on, Lord Gow."

They departed Arthur's chamber and proceeded along the corridors. Lord Gow was followed by the king, several earls, Archbishop De Croismere, Bishop Rhodri, Merlin, and diverse attendants.

As they approached the great hall, something curious happened. Lord Penrose and a party comprised of both nobles and common folk were waiting at the threshold to meet them. As one, they bowed to the king, but then passed him over. Lord Penrose's eyes alighted on Merlin and became glazed with some strong emotion.

"The Herald yet lives!" breathed Lord Penrose. "He has risen from his affliction!" At these words, a frisson of excitement passed through the people in the crowd behind him, who exchanged joyful glances, embraced each other with relief, and wept tears. Lord Penrose's wife, Lady Gladys, came forth with trembling limbs, and cried out, "And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit. And I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke."

"Amen! Amen!" whispered many mouths. A noblewoman pushed her way through the crowd, leading a small child with her. She flung herself down on her knees at Merlin's feet, causing him to shrink backwards in surprise.

"Please, Lord Herald," said the woman. "I am Sioned of Pool. My son sickens of a wasting fever. Have mercy on him, and let him be healed."

Merlin, trying to recover from his confusion, said, "My lady, I travel with the king as his Herald, not his physician. There are many skilled healers in this court, including one Master Elam, and Bishop Rhodri, who nursed me to health. I am sure they can do the same for your son. And if it eases your mind, I can visit him also. Only repair to the infirmary and await us there."

Lady Sioned shook her head. "It is not your skill as a physician I seek, Lord Herald! I entreat you to lay your hands upon my son, or only breathe upon him, and perhaps Heaven's favour shall be with him! For I have heard that the Holy Ghost moves upon you, and that your grace grants His Majesty success in all his endeavours!"

Archbishop De Croismere now spoke. "My daughter, this is uncalled for. The Herald may be a faithful servant to His Majesty, but the power over life and death does not lie within his grasp. Physicians can aid your son. Beyond that, ask miracles of God, not of ordinary men."

"Your Grace," replied Lady Sioned, "I saw the mist parting in the valley with mine own eyes. I saw that white bird, that omen of hope, which led us out of that vale of death and preserved all of our lives. If my son's life was spared once, why may he not be saved again? I have eyes to see, and ears to listen! If the Lord's spirit is in our midst, and he has sent his anointed to work signs and wonders among us, I will not be counted among the disbelievers!"

The Archbishop looked as though he were framing a reply, but the king, who had been watching Merlin with a curious expression, now stepped forward.

"Oh, let her have her wish!" said Arthur. "What harm can it do? But quickly, and let that be the end of it. We must move on. God knows, travelling with Merlin has saved my life that many times, who's to say he can't get rid of the pox too?"

Merlin looked at Arthur uncertainly. "Sire?"

"Go on, Merlin." Arthur gestured toward the woman and raised his eyebrows in that supercilious way he had, as if there were some joke only he understood. "Lay on the hands."

"Uh… as you say, sire."

Merlin bent down and tentatively stretched out his hand, placing it on the child's head. "Be well, my child."

"God bless you for your kindness!" exclaimed Lady Sioned, tears springing to her eyes. When Merlin began to withdraw his hand, the lady seized it and pressed it to her own lowered brow. Other members of the faithful crowd began to drift towards Merlin, murmuring and crying out.

"Hold," said Arthur. "You were given one laying on of the hands, for your child. And now you're making a second go of it! You'll quite drain Merlin of the Holy Spirit at this rate, it took him years to save up that much virtue, waiting on me hand and foot! Enough. Merlin, come here! I need my Herald as my voice more than you need him as a pair of hands."

Apologetically, Merlin disentangled himself from the woman and hurried to stand behind Arthur. He did not like the hungry look in the crowd's eyes, as though he were a bucket of holy water, and they were babies wanting to dive into him for their baptism.

"Open the doors!" said Arthur to the guards, who flung open the portals to the chamber. To Merlin, he added, "You just can't help yourself, can you? You've barely been up five minutes and you're already making a scene."

Merlin was silent as they passed through the doorway, not even looking at Arthur's face.

Gawaine said in a low voice, "Do you think that's the first time Merlin's touched a woman?"

"At her request?" asked Percival. "Definitely."

When the king's party had entered the hall, they prepared themselves for the arrival of the Normans. They did not have long to wait.

The doors were soon thrown open a second time, and some of Lord Gow's knights entered, followed by Norman heralds making much fanfare and flourish with their pipes. Behind them entered the prince and princess, trailed by their own knights and attendants, with more of Lord Gow's warriors bringing up the rear.

King Arthur remained seated on the throne. He would have risen out of respect for the elder Norman brother, Richard the Lionheart, who also bore the title of king, but Camelot could not rise so easily for those of princely rank. The weight of her pride was too great.

The Norman heralds now bowed, and one stepped towards the throne.

"Gracious King, and Lords of Camelot! I present His Royal Highness, Prince Edward le Bel of Angland, Duc de Bretagne, Earl of Wessex and Comte d'Anjou! I present Her Highness, Princess Marguerite of Angland, Duchesse d'Aquitaine, the Warmaiden!"

"The Warmaiden?" echoed Gawaine softly.

Merlin came forward from behind Arthur's throne, garbed in the tunic and cloak of the Royal Herald. "Be welcome in the court of King Arthur of Camelot, rightwise Overlord of all Brython, by grace of God, _Rex Britannorum_!"

The Norman prince, Edward, made a bow with some flourishes. He was handsome, and his long dark hair reminded Merlin of Gawaine's, though there was a touch of outlandishness to his sea-green eyes and impish face. His sister was equally comely, though her hair was bleached pale blonde, a feature which combined with her sun-kissed complexion to hint at more riding and exposure to the elements than befit a noblewoman of her rank. She inclined her head more proudly than her brother. She did not seem a woman who bent easily.

Prince Edward now spoke in a pleasant voice, in the common tongue, flavoured with a touch of the Frankish accent. "_Eh bien, _noble cousin of Camelot! We are privileged to be in your presence. This is an historic meeting between our Houses. Our fathers parted on ill terms, but we arrive extending the hand of amity and fraternity. So often is it the task of youth to put aside the intemperance of our elders."

"Spoken most graciously, my lord," replied Arthur. "We share in the privilege, and in your sense of optimism. And we must ask: what emboldens you to put aside the strife between our Houses and parley with us thus?"

"With an army at your back," added Lord Broderick.

"Noble cousin," replied Edward, "there are two matters of import which bring us here today. As to what emboldens me, you may have noticed that my brother King Richard, the Scourge of the Saxons, Hammer of the Saracens, Crusher of the Scots, et cetera, has left Angland and crossed the sea to Normandy. The Frankish king Louis, and our traitorous brother Geoffrey, have provoked the lords of Burgundy, Flanders and Gascony into open warfare against us, and they seek to take our lands on the continent. My king thought it apt to oversee the fighting there."

"And why are you not with him, my lord?" asked Lord Broderick. "Your herald names you Duke of Brittany, and your sister Duchess of Aquitaine. Your lands and titles are across the sea. Why have you come here?"

"King Richard thought it improper to leave Angland bereft of princes of the Norman blood to guard her," replied Edward. "With you Cambricmen and the Saxons ever restive, our earls must see we have not abandoned them here. And you forget, my lords, that my sister and I are princes of Angland as much as we are lords of Gaul. And I remain Earl of Wessex. This is our land, too."

"That is not beyond dispute," said Lord Meredith.

"My elder brothers are noble men," Prince Edward continued, as if he had not heard, "and relentless in war. But they are too proud to win friends through sweeter means than swordplay. Taking advantage of King Richard's absence, I have come to acquaint my House with yours, Arthur, King of Brythons. For a more peaceful connection between us would be of mutual benefit.

"I was born in Angland, but my father desired me to be familiar with my inheritance, so from my childhood I was often taken to the Duchy of Brittany. That ancient land shows the links between the peoples of Brython and those of Gaul. Wandering in the forests of that country, I heard many tales of the Druids of Brython, of the wonders of the people of Camelot, and of the fey magics they left behind. For it was to Brittany that many of your Brythonic ancestors fled to escape the violence of the Saxon conquests."

"A conquest which you now seek to continue," retorted Lord Broderick. "What, so you gave us refuge then, so we should turn a blind eye to your invasions against us now? More likely, you seek an alliance because you fear your position. Your House has overstretched itself, on too many fronts. With your brother fighting the Lords of Francia, you cannot hope to face both us and the Saxons."

"Do not deceive yourself, proud lord," returned Edward. "We are more than capable of repelling you and the Saxons both. We Normans hold such an empire that all the kings of the world tremble to see our flags appear off their shores. In fact, I intend to drive the Saxons further into the North as a gift for my brother in his absence. If they seek refuge with the Albans again, that shall be no relief to them. For my lady mother only has to give the word, and I shall take the land of the Scots and the Eireans, by sword or by marriage pledge, to make an empress' dowry for my sister.

"Do not think that you Cambricmen will be safe from our ire. For everywhere in your land, the dragon retreats as the lion advances. And in your fields, the daffodil yields to the fleur-de-lys, the prince of flowers."

"What!" said Lord Gow. "You speak of taking the Saxon lands. Together with Alba… Eire… and our own? Can you aspire to such a thing?"

"You mean to unite all the lands of Albion!" said Merlin, too loudly. "That is not your destiny! It is King Arthur's!"

Prince Edward looked at Merlin in surprise. "I thought it was a herald's role to speak the history of the noble houses, not to prophesy their futures."

Lady Gladys of Montgomery, who was wringing her hands on one side of the hall, suddenly became animated as Merlin spoke. As if in response to him, she called in a trembling voice, "I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh! And your sons and daughters shall prophesy! Your young men shall see visions!"

The Archbishop of Camelot rebuked her with a stern look.

"What curious customs," said Prince Edward. "My Lord Arthur, if it is indeed your destiny to unite all of Albion, perhaps I am the instrument of Fate. For I did mention my intent to make my sister a dowry of my enemies' lands. She is, as yet, unmarried. And I would not scorn her dowry to fall to the Young Dragon of Camelot. For if my sister remains unwed, and my brother Richard is fought to a standstill against King Louis, she may be betrothed to the Dauphin of Gaul. And I have heard such tales of that prince's lechery - of his numerous mistresses, his countless vices, and his debased appetites - that I would not see my precious sister go to that soiled marital bed. Nor would I see her womb become a mouth of Hell, to vomit forth more wretched princes of the House of Bourbon."

A stillness came over the hall.

Merlin felt a knot of tension in his stomach. Of all the matches Arthur had been offered, this was by far the most tempting. Princess Marguerite held Aquitaine, which Merlin knew by repute to be one of the wealthiest territories across the sea. Her brothers, between them, held kingdoms on both sides of the Channel, and were poised to expand even further in Brython. Ties of kinship to the Normans might well avert one of the many wars brewing on the island.

"An ambitious proposal," said Arthur eventually. "We see that you really do mean to grasp as much of Brython as you can in your brother's absence. But what are your sister's thoughts on this matter? It seems she has little to say."

The princess remained silent, but she looked steadily at Arthur from her unveiled face. She did not drop her gaze, as became a noble lady while the subject of her hand in marriage was being so openly discussed. Her expression gave nothing away, except perhaps faint annoyance.

"Cousin," said Edward, "my sister is a woman of few words. She shuns the company of men. Like the goddess Diane, Queen of Chastity, she loves riding, hunting, and sporting in the woods, and would chafe at being confined in an imperial palace. The great forests and fields of Brython are more inviting to her than the intrigues of the Frankish court. Those courtiers would look askance on a damsel who prefers riding breeches to satin gowns.

"She has resisted wedlock for many years, but she cannot hold out forever. She swore to King Richard that she would only marry a man who performed a great feat of valour, such as defeating her armies in pitched combat, which none has achieved so far. This rash proclamation has, unfortunately, only provided an incentive for the Princes of Francia to assault her county, thinking to force her hand, for which reason I removed her from that land. I do not ask for an answer on this matter, merely that you accept us as guests until we depart, and see how you like the friendship of we Norman princes."

"The lords of Cambria do not begrudge hospitality," said Arthur. "So let there be friendship between our Houses, at least for the nonce. But when do you look to depart? You did say there was another matter that brought you here."

"Indeed, my lord, and it is a much less happy affair. It is one that calumniates your own character. For we received word that a great dragon had come out of the skies two weeks ago, a terror whose breath is fire and wingbeats hurricanes, and it has laid waste to the northern lands."

A flurry of oaths, and murmurs of disbelief went around the hall.

"Worse still," continued Edward, "having settled in the old Saxon kingdom of Northumbria, the dragon was joined by yet another beast. That land holds the border between our Norman power and the last of the Saxon princedoms. The desolation wrought by the dragons has put an end to all thoughts of strife between our people, for the wyrms lay waste to both our armies alike.

"The Saxon king of Northumbria has called together the greatest warriors of all the kingdoms, offering them a reward to hunt the beasts. None have succeeded thus far. For that reason, he brought a company of Dane dragonslayers from out of the icy North, who have certain secret techniques, by which he seeks to put a stop to the devastation. But it would certainly befit you, O King, to slay the dragon first."

"How is this possible?" said Arthur. "My father killed all the dragons in the land, except the last, which I… slew myself." His face grew thoughtful, and his eyes flickered towards his Herald.

"That is where the slander against your kingdom begins," replied Prince Edward. "The Saxon king has in his court a very powerful soothsayer. That soothsayer claims to have divined that one of the dragons was released from beneath the castle of Camelot. And the Saxon king has put about that this evil has been unleashed upon men by the folly of the Pendragon kings."

"We slew that dragon!" protested Sir Leon. "King Arthur killed it himself."

The Archbishop spoke in a low voice, his brow creased. "We only saw the king... and his Herald... return from that encounter. We never found the body of the beast. Sire, this is very important. Did you see the dragon perish yourself?"

Merlin felt paralysed.

"Yes," said Arthur loudly. "I… struck it a killing blow, using a technique my father had taught me, which he said had always felled dragons before. I saw the beast limp away, mortally wounded. But perhaps my father kept the great dragon chained because it could not die as easily as the rest of its kind. It is an ancient and mysterious beast. Indeed, magic is a wonder we little understand..."

The king stood. "If the men of Northumbria are plagued by a dragon released from beneath my castle, I will take on the burden of slaying it, and the other of its kind. The creature will fall for good this time. And the honour of Camelot will be restored."

"Spoken like a true king," replied Prince Edward. And to his sister, he added, "And slaying such a beast would be a worthy feat of arms, would it not?"

"Lord Gow," said Arthur. "Have your attendants see that the Princes of Normandy are made comfortable. I must go for a ride. Alone. Accompanied only by my Herald."

Arthur descended the steps from the dais, and inclined his head to the prince and princess, who returned the gesture. "Noble cousins, be welcome here," said Arthur in farewell. _"__A Dieu vous comant."_

The king strode away without looking backwards, and Merlin followed with his belly churning, feeling the eyes of the whole court stabbing at him like knives. He did not dare look at the Archbishop's face.


	17. The Unpardonable Sin

**A/N:** Sorry guys, this is a shortish chapter, and all a flashback! It just felt right here. The next chapter will return to the actual interaction between Merlin and Arthur which I think most of you are waiting for!

* * *

Arthur was thirteen years old when he first learnt that no one was beyond the stain of magic.

After the convulsions of the Great Purge, the Kingdom of Camelot had settled into an uneasy peace. Even then, a small, steady stream of executions for witchcraft continued to take place: hangings, beheadings, drownings, and Arthur's least favourite, the burnings. Most of these seemed a distant affair to the young prince. Once he had become inured to the horrors of his first few witch-burnings, he had almost stopped noticing them.

In early spring, the farmers plucked out weeds from their fields, and cast them into great bonfires to burn. King Uther likewise uprooted and burned the practitioners of sorcery, their screams mingling with the melodies of returned songbirds. In summer, bodies swung from the gallows in the palace courtyard, a grim harvest, timely as the sweet apples suspended from the tree branches in the Citadel's orchards.

These were all part of the rhythms of the seasons, as little noteworthy as the coming and going of the snows.

But these dangers, the evils of witchcraft and the violent retributions they invited, were sealed away outside the gates of the Citadel. Within the safety of its halls, where Arthur spent his days, sorcery had been banished and purged completely, and the people laughed and made merry, with no fear in their eyes.

Or so Arthur had thought, until the day Niclas had committed the unpardonable sin.

From his toddling days, Arthur had grown up surrounded by the sons of powerful earls and barons. Blessed by Nature with strength, leadership, and charisma to equal his family name, Arthur had been the apple of the court's eye. Through pagehood and squirehood, Arthur and his companions had charged around the castle and its grounds, boisterous, swaggering, arrogant, engaging in feats of swordplay, always seeking to overthrow each other.

But then there was Niclas, Baron Yarwood's son. Niclas was different, and it had started from a very young age.

Niclas was fidgety and dreamy, and always staring at something others could not see. When forced to duel by the swordmaster, Niclas would hold his blade like it was a foreign object, with an expression of distaste on his face. He swung it oddly gracefully, but ineffectually, like a maiden twirling a baton during a festival pageant. He hated combat practice, and would attempt to escape at every opportunity. But whenever Niclas was made to sit in the armoury and clean weapons as a punishment, Arthur would find him happily staring at the shields with their coloured devices, his fingers tracing over the lines and patterns, as if they revealed shapes to him that others were blind to.

Several times Arthur and the other boys were deputed to pull Niclas out of Geoffrey of Monmouth's library, where he spent hours absorbed in books, or out of the College of Heralds, where he loved to listen to the lute. They would force Niclas to accompany them, for the elders insisted that a nobleman's son must be raised in the society of his peers. But even as the other boys become more raucous and wild in each other's company, Niclas would grow overwhelmed and try to hide himself in a corner. He seemed to listen most intently to silence, and the loud voices of the other boys were unbearable to him.

When they tried to include Niclas in horseplay and wrestling, he became alarmed, and shrank from physical touch. If struck in a friendly manner, he cried more easily than a maid. They could not even take him hunting, for he would ride off in a different direction from the others, claiming his horse was telling him where it wanted to go, and then everyone would have to stop and find him again, or he would be lost in the woods, and they would all be punished.

Everyone assumed that Niclas would grow out of his strange behaviours, but in the meantime he was most unpopular. Arthur, however, discovered an odd sort of tenderness towards the boy. Even as he despised Niclas for his weakness, his alienness, his failures to live up to the Knight's Code, and the general air of worthlessness that clung to him, part of Arthur felt that it was a prince's duty to care for even the most wretched of his subjects.

And there _was _something almost fascinating about Niclas. The dreamlike way he moved through the world, always lost in his imagination, roaming in search of a tune others could never hear. The intense, nervous energy about him. The sense that he had wandered into the court by mistake from some other world, and never quite found his way back. When he was alone with Arthur, away from the company of the other boys, he seemed to come out of his shell. A strange glow suffused his features, and his frightened face relaxed into a pixie-like grin. He would dash about, all limbs, like an airy sprite, and words would pour forth from his mouth, stories from the books of romance he had read, told with such nostalgia in his voice that it seemed he must have walked in those enchanted kingdoms, all those centuries ago.

One evening Arthur had gone to find Niclas in the woods, where the boy loved to wander. Arthur found him twirling about in a grove with a stick in his hand, and wildflowers woven into his hair. As ridiculous as the other lads found him, Arthur thought Niclas looked more dignified in the forests than he did in the castle. Here, there was almost a regal quality to him, and he did not stick out like a sore thumb.

"Niclas," Arthur had said. "Stop this. Come back to the Citadel. How are you ever going to be a knight, and fit in at court, if you don't outgrow these absurd ways? You are an only son! Don't you care about your parents' honour?"

Niclas had stopped spinning and looked at Arthur with defiance on his face.

"I don't care!" he said. "I don't care about your court. I'm going to another one. One where I truly belong." He lowered his voice, and shadows crept into his eyes. "I've heard the voices, Arthur. Can't you hear them? The Lords and Ladies of the Woods. They've been whispering to me since I was a little boy! I think I understand now, why I'm so unlike everybody else. I must be one of them. They left me here by mistake. But they will come back for me."

Arthur felt sorry for Niclas. The poor boy was so lonely, so unwanted by everyone, that his warped mind had invented friends for itself. In his usual childish way, he could not tell the difference between reality and the tales of Lord Oberon and the Faerie Queen, which he had read about in the epic poems. His imagination had filled the woods with companions who cared for him, and shown him a court more welcoming than Camelot's.

Arthur said, "You mustn't speak like this. People will think you're mad."

Niclas laughed. "I am the only sane man in the asylum." He looked up at the rising moon. "Some time soon, I think, I shall find my way back. But I might not be able to take this body with me. I couldn't find the easier doors, the ones hidden under hills and standing stones. There are harsher ways to the land of Faerie. You can travel by fire or water, by rope or knife, if you don't mind pain…" He looked at Arthur. "You've been a good friend to me, Arthur. My only friend. I want you to know that."

"Enough of this nonsense," Arthur said, seizing Niclas by the arm. "You're coming back with me right now."

Arthur wished to God he had never seen Niclas that night, or the night that came later.

As they entered their thirteenth year, Arthur and his peers grew steadily more confident in their powers as squires. They frequently fought alongside their masters, and for youths of tender age, acquitted themselves well in combat.

Niclas had given up hope of becoming a knight. At first, he had shown a keen interest in entering the Church, but then he had suddenly gone off that idea, perhaps because his parents could not afford him to be celibate. Next he had fixated on learning the art of the Heralds, but minstrelsy was unthinkable as a primary occupation for a nobleman. Finally, it seemed that Niclas would become a scholar outside the Church, thanks to the intervention of Gaius and Geoffrey of Monmouth, who had many academic contacts. While this poorly paid role would still allow Niclas to support a family, it would mean a greatly diminished standing for his House, which had been expected to produce a knight as its head. Niclas' parents were sore aggrieved, and his father did not trouble to hide his anger and embarrassment at his son.

Later that year, it was announced that since Niclas was not to serve as a knight, he was to be pledged to a girl from another minor family, to "give his life focus." The actual marriage would not take place until both parties reached the age of majority, but the betrothal ceremony would be conducted after Samhain.

Arthur had seen little of Niclas in the preceding two years, for the prince was busy with his knightly training, and with the increased duties his father had given him. Arthur did notice, however, that Niclas had become increasingly withdrawn, secretive and irritable. He barely emerged from his chambers, and spent all his time poring over old grimoires. Arthur once tried to bring Niclas out of his isolation by asking the other boy if he had read any more fairy romances, but Niclas reacted with anger and shame, telling Arthur that as he was no longer a child, he had put away childish things. There was little trace left of the impish lad Arthur had once known. There was no dreamy light in his eyes, only shadows cast by a waking nightmare.

At midnight, four days before the start of Samhain, a letter was slipped under Arthur's door. He had been lying awake after a hard day's training, dreaming of slaying dragons like his father, when he heard the rustle of parchment followed by softly retreating footsteps. He got up, lit a candle and unsealed the letter, and read by the flickering glow. The lines were in a hand he recognised as Niclas':

_Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;_

_Four nights will quickly dream away the time;_

_And then the moon, like to a silver bow_

_New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night_

_Of our solemnities._

There was a violet pressed into the parchment.

Embarrassed to be receiving strange poems from Niclas as if he were a lovesick maid, Arthur burnt the note and cast the flower away. He tried to put the whole thing out of his mind, but the reference to _four days_ disturbed him.

At sunset of Samhain day, the Citadel went into lockdown. It was said that the Veil between the worlds was thin on this night, that unquiet spirits roamed the land, and witches were at their most powerful. The common people observed customs inherited from the Old Ways, trying to keep themselves safe from eldritch forces. It was a time when the powers of the Old Religion waxed strong, and Uther had ordered the members of the court confined to the Citadel.

When the warning bell rang out late that night, announcing that someone had broken the curfew, Arthur knew instantly that it was Niclas.

The prince used his knowledge of the castle's layout to steal out of the Citadel, praying he reached Niclas before the guards did. He knew how it would look to his father for anyone to be roaming on Samhain night, especially a person as strange and friendless as Niclas.

He oustripped the guards and slipped through the shadowy lanes, heading straight for the woods on the outskirts of the city.

Niclas, the fool, had not even bothered to conceal his location. He had made a fire! Its red glow seeped through the trees.

Arthur crashed through the branches, pushing them aside, and entered the clearing.

Niclas stood before a blazing bonfire, a wild look on his face. He was alone, but the fire cast many strange, flickering shadows, which moved about, making it seem as if the clearing was filled by a crowd of unseen people. Niclas had garbed himself in a fine silken tunic and cloak, which must have been his engagement suit. His hair was crowned with a wreath of oaken twigs, and behind him, tree branches had been cut down and woven into the shape of an archway, a doorway in the woods, like the entrance to a bridal pavilion. The whole scene looked like a pagan mockery of a betrothal ceremony, and as the wind sighed through the branches, making music like wild piping, Arthur remembered how the Old Gods were loose in the woods this night, and shivered with fear.

"Niclas!" he shouted. "Come away from here! The guards are coming!"

Niclas turned, his face radiating with joy as he saw Arthur. It was only then that Arthur noticed the knife in Niclas' left hand, flashing in the firelight.

"I knew you'd come!" Niclas said. "I was waiting for you, Arthur. _Hlafordas ond hlæfdigan wealdes! Onlucan þone dor!" _Niclas' eyes gleamed as bright as the fire.

Something changed in the clearing. Time seemed to slow, and the firelight bled into the world, dyeing everything golden. The tree branches turned silver, and bore silver leaves and silver blossoms, more delicately wrought than anything fashioned by any human smith. The boughs shook gently, and a flurry of crystal petals filled the air, showering down upon Niclas like grain thrown on a new-made bridegroom. The wreath of twigs in his hair bloomed into yellow oak-flowers, and his nuptial finery shone like spun gold. The archway of twisted branches behind him shivered, and light streamed from it, as though a doorway in the woods had been flung open.

Niclas turned and looked at the archway, tears on his cheeks. "I'm not sure if I can do it," he said. "The Veil is thin on Samhain, but I'm not strong enough to open it all the way. I just need my soul to get through. The body can be the sacrifice..." He turned back, and stretched his hand out to Arthur. "Please, Arthur," he said. "Will you hold my hand?"

Unsure what was possessing his limbs, Arthur closed the distance between them and put his hand in Niclas'. Arthur had noticed that the shadows around the fire were deepening, looking more substantial. He almost fancied he could make out humanoid shapes crowding around them, and his gut was screaming at him to flee. But Niclas seemed unconcerned, and turned back to the doorway.

"I wanted to say farewell to you," Niclas said. "Samhain is a time of homecoming. The spirits come back to this world to remember what they've lost. But my home lies somewhere else."

Suddenly, Niclas kissed Arthur on the lips. Arthur was too shocked to move. The other boy tasted like salty tears, and wildflowers.

Niclas dropped Arthur's hand and went towards the archway, his cloak streaming in an unseen wind.

"_Halt!" _Guards burst upon them, spears lowered. Two of them charged Niclas, who did not hesitate, but turned the knife up towards his chest.

"No!" shouted Arthur, lunging forward and catching Niclas' wrist as the knife came arcing upwards. As the boys struggled, a guard came up behind Niclas, aimed the butt of his spear, and smashed it into the back of Niclas' head, knocking him to the ground.

What followed was the most frightening two days of Arthur's short life. He was confined to his chambers, and interrogated repeatedly by King Uther and Archbishop De Croismere. He knew something terrible was about to happen, and that he was in more trouble than he'd ever been in. Under repeated questionings, he confessed that he'd seen Niclas using magic, that Niclas had sent him a note four days before the events of Samhain, that even as a boy Niclas had wandered in the woods and claimed voices were speaking to him.

On the third day, Uther came into the room with the Archbishop and two large, frightening monks. They carried a large tub of water, which was placed on the floor of Arthur's chambers. The doors were locked.

Despite his protests, Arthur was stripped naked by the Brothers, and held under the water again and again, so long that he felt his lungs would give up and he would surely be drowned. After Arthur was brought up out of the water the fourth time, retching and crying and trembling, Uther's eyes softened, and he said, "Surely that is enough, Raimund."

"Have you forgotten the circumstances of his birth, sire?" cried the Archbishop. "You know the sorcerers have designs upon him, and they have already put their mark on him. Will you risk their corruption remaining within him to fester?"

Uther looked away, and Arthur was submerged in the holy water again.

When the ordeal was finished Arthur was wrapped in blankets and dumped on the bed. All the strength and resistance had been purged out of him.

The Archbishop looked at Arthur sternly. "Niclas committed an unpardonable sin. And because you did not mention his strange behaviour earlier, you partook in his sin. Had we uncovered his sickness at a younger age, we could have saved him. But he was left to wander on his own, and unclean spirits tempted him in the wilderness, and led him into destruction. They meant to use him to destroy you as well, and they almost succeeded."

Arthur was silent, numb from the cold, his teeth chattering.

"Do not hate us, Arthur," said the Archbishop. "This was for your own good. We had to cleanse your body and your soul of the sickness Niclas invited with his fiendish rites. It is fortunate the guards found you when they did. Baptism by water was sufficient to save you. But for Niclas it is too late, and he shall have the baptism by fire."

Frozen nigh unto death as he was, Arthur felt more chilly still.

"Your Grace," said Uther, "is this necessary? The Yarwoods are an old family. Such evil tendencies may be found among the best of Houses. I can make the boy disappear. Perhaps… one of your monasteries… there are places for such people. Places where they never see the sunlight. He will be good as dead."

"His weakness almost cost you your son! The boy chose to flaunt his wickedness publicly! The poison is strong in him, and will only grow stronger with age. From what Arthur reported, the boy himself wants to die. He knows a creature like him was condemned to a life of suffering, and so long as he breathes, his parents' life is misery. So release him from his torment, before his sin grows and consumes us all."

"And Arthur?"

"Confine him to his chambers for two weeks. Let him fast and pray strictly. At the end of that time, let the first thing he sees be the consequences of tolerating sorcery."

_No, _thought Arthur. _God, no. Why did I stop Niclas? Everything that happens to him now is my fault._

The two weeks went by far, far quicker than seemed possible.

A special pyre was built for the warlock who had threatened the king's own son. The whole court was in attendance. Niclas' mother was not there. It was rumoured she had died of a broken heart, which probably meant she had taken her own life, for mortal sins apparently ran in that family. Niclas' father looked ashamed, but almost relieved to be free from association with his son, and Arthur hated him for that.

"Even the greatest family trees," said Uther, "sometimes put out diseased growths. They must be pruned at once, to stop the sickness from spreading. Just as farmers pluck out and burn the weeds, so the healthful plants may grow."

"Yes, Father," said Arthur dully. He did not dare to look at Morgana's face, for she had been fond of Niclas, and she would not forgive Arthur for his role in the boy's condemnation.

When Niclas was brought out, he almost looked like somebody else. His messy locks had been shorn clean off, and he was so thin and emaciated, Arthur could count his bones. He was heavily bruised, and some of his limbs looked mangled, and not quite right.

They interrogated witches much more harshly than the questioning Arthur had endured.

But the strangest thing about Niclas was his eyes. There was nothing in them. They had the blank look of a complete stranger.

Arthur felt a surge of relief overwhelm him. That wasn't really Niclas down there! Niclas had been right after all - he _had _been able to pierce the Veil, to separate his soul from his body, and send his true self flying on wings to Fairyland. All that was left behind now was this shell… this sacrifice.

The gods had to be appeased.

"You must watch, Arthur," said Uther, placing his hands on Arthur's head. "You will not look away, even if he was your friend."

"Yes, Father."

But it wasn't really his friend. Even the screams didn't sound like Niclas.

For a long time after that, Arthur had bad dreams. He couldn't understand why, if Niclas had committed the unpardonable sin, Arthur should be the one to feel so guilty.

But the evil memories receded with time. There were many more witch-burnings, after all, and Arthur's mind could not hold the details of all of them at once. These things were as regular as the seasons.

After that, every once in a while, Arthur would see someone who would remind him of Niclas. He couldn't say why, exactly. There were certain boys or men who had a touch of the Fey about them. Sometimes it was a certain expression, or the way they moved, or a turn of phrase they used, or a mad, nervous kind of energy about them. Something just out of Arthur's perception would stir the cobwebs of his memory, and direct his attention to them for a moment.

But only for a moment. He would pass on, and give them a wide berth. He had no desire to partake in someone else's sin again, and he became very good at ignoring signs that he did not wish to see.

* * *

Arthur cleared the crest of a rise and sent his courser thundering down the grassy green slope. When he had ridden a good ten yards, he reined the horse in, and wheeled it round.

Merlin appeared on the rise above Arthur, drew his mount to a halt, then sent it trotting down towards the prince.

Arthur looked at Merlin, truly looked at him, for what felt like the first time in a long time.

Merlin appeared the same bumbling servant he always had been to those who did not know him. But Arthur marked the changes well. The tiny slip of a boy who had first stumbled into Camelot all those years ago had grown into a tall man, taller than Arthur, and even broader of shoulder. His charming quicksilver expressions, which had flitted across his face like ripples on a pond, had solidified into something more sombre. Those elfin, impish features, always so quick to crack into a grin, had hardened, become stronger and more grave. And those eyes, once so bright with hope, were grimly determined, yet filled with unspeakable sadness.

There was a painting in Camelot, which had been commissioned from one of the great masters of Nuova Italia. Uther had ordered it during one of those crazes for Joseph of Arimathea which swept through the land whenever someone claimed to discover the location of the Sacred Grail. It was said that Joseph of Arimathea had visited Brython after burying the Saviour, and that he had brought the Grail into the country, so that now his image was bound to pop up wherever knights quested in search of holy relics.

This painting had been very lifelike, and focused purely on the two men. The master lay dead, and the servant cradled his master's cold dead limbs, weeping in the depths of human agony. The beauty of the male body had been exquisitely delineated, and indeed people whispered of this particular artist that his passion for the male form exceeded the bounds of propriety, but nobody minded in the far South so long as he provided the Church with beautiful art, and was discreet about his personal failings. For God could create sublime things even out of degraded instruments.

Merlin's eyes reminded Arthur of Joseph's eyes in that painting. They were filled with unspeakable grief and suffering. But Joseph was wearied, physically and emotionally, from carrying the body of his master along the desolate paths of the killing fields. Merlin wore that expression all the time, regardless of what he was doing.

_It is me, _thought Arthur. _Hasn't he been carrying me this whole time, too? I am his burden, and he can never put me down. Not until the end. Maybe not even then._

Merlin stopped his horse in front of Arthur and looked at him, waiting for him to break the silence.

"I want to tell you a story, Merlin," said Arthur.

* * *

**A/N: **laorart, thanks for your question!

I actually made a mistake there, it was supposed to be the Old French form, but I think the Old French should be, "à Dieu _vos _comant." I believe the modern French equivalent should be, "à Dieu (je) vous (re)commende." (Not sure if that makes sense grammatically in modern French though)

The Old French form is what the Normans brought into English. "à Dieu vos comant" was translated into Saxon/English as "God be with ye." Just as the French farewell was shortened to "Adieu," the English was shortened to "God be/Good Bye," which we still use today! Isn't that nice!

Unfortunately, I don't even speak modern French, so it would be too ambitious for me to try and make the Normans speak historically accurate French phrases all the time. To make matters worse, not only did the Normans speak older French, but the Norman dialect had some very different features and pronunciation from Standard French (I believe that's still the case in Normandy today, even though most people there speak Standard French now?) I'm not even going to embarrass myself by putting more than a smidgen of French in here and there. If I do use any French from now on, I will probably limit myself to modern French, and everyone will have to use their imaginations I guess!

To all readers, I should include a general note on my use of languages: I only speak modern English fluently, so please take anything else I write, whether in Old English, Latin, French etc. with many grains of salt. I am using online resources to cobble together a sprinkling of other languages to add flavour as the story requires, but you can't trust anything I write in them! Be warned!


	18. A Respite for Sisyphus

Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour,  
To think of things that are well outworn?  
Of fruitless husk and fugitive flower,  
The dream foregone and the deed forborne?  
Though joy be done with and grief be vain,  
Time shall not sever us wholly in twain;  
Earth is not spoilt for a single shower;  
But the rain has ruined the ungrown corn.

\- Swinburne, _The Triumph of Time_

* * *

… Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel, or under a bed? And not to be set on a candlestick?

For there is nothing hid, which shall not be manifested; neither was any thing kept secret, but that it should come abroad.

\- Mark 4:21-22

* * *

"A story, sire?" The expression on Merlin's face didn't change .

"Yes. You do enjoy the power of stories, don't you, Merlin?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Arthur was struck again by how much Merlin had changed over the years. In the castle, in his servant's garb, it was easy to see him as the affable fool. Out here, there was a self-possession to him. The wilderness became him. Arthur could almost see Druids emerging from the trees to follow Merlin, for he sat taller on his steed, like a wild knight presiding over a sylvan court. A king without a crown.

There were certain places where the Old Religion was strong, and Merlin had spoken of life flowing quicker in the soil there, of currents of power gathering, making certain landmarks sacred. Arthur had paid little attention in such places, less than he should have. He had no frame of reference for such things, and his own worldview could not accommodate there being powers in the land greater than kingship, greater than those recognised by the throne of Camelot.

But sometimes, at the back of his mind, there lurked a prickling knowledge of the truth in Merlin's words. At certain places, at certain times, the artifice of the rules they lived by became clear. The trappings of kingship fell away, and without Arthur's armour and royal crest, what truly made him a king, and Merlin a servant? There were times when Arthur came dangerously close to feeling the power shift between himself and Merlin. Times when Arthur felt that should Merlin come into his true majesty, Arthur would be the one to bow low and pay homage.

Arthur dismounted, tied his courser to a nearby tree, and waited for Merlin to do the same. When Merlin was done, Arthur reached for the scabbard that was strapped to his saddle, and withdrew Excalibur. The blade seemed to make a faint chime, on the edges of Arthur's hearing.

"Now, this sword, for example. You told me a number of stories about it. Stories that inspired me to retake Camelot, and reclaim my mantle as king. There's more to this weapon than you shared with me."

"Sire," said Merlin, "whatever I tell you, you must promise me one thing, on your honour as king. You must not send me away. It is my _destiny _to protect you. That is the sole reason for my existence, the only reason I act. You must-"

"I won't send you away, Merlin."

Merlin took a deep breath. "I did not tell you the full story of the sword's forging. It was made by Tom the blacksmith, Gwen's father. And there was magic in its making."

"So you're saying Tom _was _a sorcerer?"

"No, sire. What your father couldn't understand was that banning magic from this land affected more than just sorcerers. Magic was once a force that acted upon every single person in Camelot. It was part of the air they breathed, the water they drank, the fabric of their lives. Sorcerers were closer to the wellspring of power, but that power flowed in a current that bore the whole kingdom in its tow.

"We aren't all farmers, but banning ploughing would starve each one of us. We aren't all tailors, but outlawing weaving would leave us naked and exposed to the elements. And… we aren't all sorcerers… but outlawing magic stripped something away that was part of every single person's life. Especially craftsmen.

"Blacksmiths remember the Old Ways. Theirs is one of the oldest arts. The Risen God is not a smith, but the Palatines had Vulcan, the Saxons had Wayland Cunning-Smith, the old Cambricmen had Gofannon. That was not an accident. Smithing was almost magic, once upon a time, for knowing how to transmute ore into weapons was a power that kingdoms were built on."

Arthur had turned away from Merlin. He took a few paces, hefting the sword in front of him, feeling its balance.

"Go on," he said.

Merlin continued, "On the night that Tom completed his apprenticeship, his master took him to one of the burial mounds of the ancient kings. They brought a new-made sword with them, and threw it into a pond on the hillside, as an offering. It was a Midsummer night, one of the times in the year when the Sidhe have great power to influence this world, according to the Old Religion."

Arthur stretched his leg out and sank into a half-sitting stance, the sword at eye level, his left hand held out in front to balance it. "Such practices are frowned upon, if not outright forbidden."

"Indeed, sire. Later that night, Tom had a dream. He was shown a broken sword hidden on that same hillside, a sword from the tomb of the ancient kings. He retrieved it, and took it to the forge at midnight, and melted the steel down. He said the forge had never reached such temperatures before, and never would again. Some power guided his hands, and there were shadows working with him on the anvil that night, when he remade Excalibur. He took the blade up, and when the work was done, he cast it away. It never saw the light of day again… until the day Uther fought the Black Knight."

Arthur looked over his shoulder. "You're saying… Tom armed Uther. With a magic sword."

"No, sire. I did. With Gwen's help. And I obtained the sword for you, not for Uther."

"_You _did?" Arthur looked at the blade. "What was that phrase you used?"

"Take me up. Cast me away. Those are the runes inscribed on the blade."

"And Tom put this on because…"

"Because that is no ordinary sword. It is the sword of the King of Albion."

"Then why doesn't it say, 'Take me up. Grasp me firmly.' Surely that would be better advice for one who seeks to rule."

"No, it wouldn't. The tighter you grasp something, the more powerfully Fate will tear it from your grip. A king's rule is suspended on a blade's edge. It is never secure. Every time you take up this weapon, you must be prepared to cast away something of equal value. Excalibur will bleed you as surely as it does your enemies, though the wounds may be more subtle. But a true king does not care for the personal cost he suffers, if his sacrifice benefits his subjects. That is why only a true king can use this weapon."

Arthur looked at Merlin with a concerned expression. "How do you know so much about kingship?"

"Because, sire. Kings aren't the only ones with burdens. There are… other talents that demand great sacrifice of whoever wields them."

"Yes. Quite. About that, Merlin. That is why we are here. We need to talk."

"I'm listening, sire."

Arthur held the sword high above him, where it blazed in the sunlight that fell through the tree branches. "My father would sometimes tell me a bedtime story. Would you like to hear it now?"

"If that is your wish, my lord."

"Many, many times throughout her history, the Kingdom of Camelot has been afflicted by great hardship. During one of these times, a Pendragon queen was unable to bear her people's suffering, and in desperation, she turned to a sorceress. The sorceress told her that for Camelot to prosper, raw magic must be released into the land, for it had been sealed away by the queen's forefathers in a charmed casket. Within that casket, the sorceress said, the queen would find the power to restore the kingdom to a place of beauty and wealth, an enchanted empire, so great that it would make the gods tremble."

"I see where this is going," said Merlin.

"So the queen opened the casket. And out of it came horrors she could not have dreamt of. Necromancy, plagues, unspeakable monsters, and demons. All the bowels of Hell were emptied into the Earth. And worse than the outward calamities were the sins of pride, jealousy and wrath that took root in men's hearts. Ordinary humans were granted power over Nature and the souls of other men, and unable to restrain themselves, they shattered the fabric of the world. Witch-Queens built towers so high they blotted out the Sun, and sought to overthrow the Throne of God.

"But at the end of all this, when the world had been ravaged by the queen's actions, the last thing to emerge from the casket on tremulous wings was humanity's most precious treasure: Hope. And the queen used it to rebuild the blasted kingdom, and fill the walls of the Citadel with the most exquisite achievements of mankind, wonders never before glimpsed by mortal eyes."

Arthur looked at Merlin with a strange hardness in his expression.

"Merlin. Knowing all this, knowing the cost of humanity's greatest treasure, would you still open the casket?"

Merlin swallowed, his eyes wet. "I am not the one who holds the key, sire."

"But I think you have an opinion, and I'm asking for it. It's one thing for you or I to make a choice for ourselves, to take up a gift that would cost us dearly. But can we make that choice for the entire kingdom?"

"Your father already made that choice once, Arthur. So did many of your ancestors. That is your duty as king."

"The question is, who are your ancestors, Merlin?"

"Sire?"

"Are you Emrys?"

A breeze stirred the hillside, making the leaves whisper and the dandelions flutter their petals, as if the name alone called the woods to bear witness. Merlin was still amidst all the movement.

"That... is what the Druids call me."

"Why did you lie to me about the dragon?"

Merlin blinked rapidly. "I… I've told so many lies, sire. Sometimes I lose track of how many I've told, and why. I know how it began. First it was to survive. But then it was about keeping you safe."

"How does _deceiving _me all this time keep me safe?"

"Sire. I know you're angry, and you have a right to be. I didn't choose this. No one wants to spend their life living a lie. But if the people you cared about would have to kill you, or send you away, if you didn't lie... I just wanted to stay with you. To protect you is my destiny. And I would give up anything for that. Truth. Happiness. My life. Without question."

"Tell me everything, Merlin. From the beginning."

"I'll tell you what I can, sire."

"Tell me _everything."_

"What I can. And then you may decide whether you trust me."

Arthur shot Merlin a look of challenge. "I need you to say the words, because I can't bring myself to believe it. All the evidence is there. It has been all along, but my mind refuses to accept it. It always has. You're a sorcerer, aren't you? You have been this whole time, hiding right by my side, even while sorcery is a capital offence in Camelot."

For a while, Merlin said nothing. His face was more stoic than it once had been, but Arthur saw grief warring with worry, thoughtfulness giving way to surrender. Here was a man ready to lay down a burden which he had carried for such a long, long time. It should have come as a relief, yet strangely, there was a sense of detachment about him.

Arthur was reminded of how falcons were broken in, how they got so used to their tethers that afterwards they would never try to fly away. He was giving Merlin the space to open his wings, but after so long, perhaps Merlin had forgotten why he would want to.

In the end, Merlin stretched out his hand. "_Forbærne_ _," _he said softly.

Fire crept along the blade in Arthur's hand, enveloping the steel as lovingly and gently as an embrace. Flecks of light danced off the flames, streaming into the air, like sparks thrown from a blacksmith's forge. The sparks converged, forming a shape, a little dragon that hovered above Arthur's blade, as if the crest of his House had been given form. Despite the restrained display of magic, Arthur saw beauty and power roiling in the dragon as it flapped its wings, and he understood that Merlin was something different from any sorcerer he had encountered before.

_I am teetering on the brink, _Arthur thought. _How many revelations can I endure before the world makes no sense to me?_

The fire died away, gently as the sun slipping behind clouds.

Perhaps emboldened by Arthur's silence, Merlin began to speak.

"I have magic," he said, the catch in his voice belying the calmness of his face. "And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.

"Some destinies are pre-written. Some people's lives have been foretold. You are not just the King of Camelot, but the Once and Future King, born to unite the lands of Albion. You are the rock of ages, upon which the people of this island shall build their greatest kingdom. The New Albion will be the city on the hill, a light to all nations. You are her king, born for glories that will be remembered by every people, in every age. And I was born to serve you."

So Merlin told Arthur, if not everything, near enough.

He told Arthur the story of how he had come to Camelot, and heard the call of the dragon, King Uther's ancient enemy. How he had learnt that Arthur and Merlin were two sides of the same coin, one face loved and golden and shining in the light, the other face dark and despised and hidden in shadow. He told how he had betrayed his own kind to protect Arthur and Arthur's loved ones, how he had saved King Uther's life countless times, even when other sorcerers had suffered all the more for it. How the ban on magic had robbed him of his right to practice magic in safety, so that he had stumbled in darkness, struggling with his gift, trying to safeguard himself and everyone around him even while hobbled and blindfolded.

He told how he had spent years gathering more knowledge and power than anyone he knew, but remained trapped in the role of a fool, mocked and mistreated by those who owed him the greatest debts. He told how he had traded his life for Arthur's on the Isle of Blessed, how he had conquered a dragon with his voice, how he had stopped an immortal army with that same enchanted sword, how he was responsible for shaping Morgana's malice through negligence, and how he'd thwarted her plans for the throne again and again.

He told of how he'd tried to save Uther's life a final time, but Morgana's hostility had perverted his magic, and caused it to be the instrument of Uther's final judgement. He told of the countless times he had worked spells to protect Arthur and Camelot, all while gambling with his own life to do so. How he had sacrificed everything important to himself to put Arthur first, how allegiance to Arthur had so consumed his life that Merlin had no existence outside of serving his king.

And he told of how he would do it all again in an instant to keep Arthur safe.

The sun was falling in the western skies when Merlin had finished. Arthur had paced around, listened patiently, argued, shouted with fury, cut through several tree branches with Excalibur, and worst of all, been silent as the grave, with a stranger's face. Both men had tears in their eyes.

At the end, as shadows lengthened and a chill began to set in, Arthur stood facing away from Merlin, who had fallen to his knees.

"And is that everything?" Arthur asked.

"I've said what I can, sire."

"So you still hold things back. You're _just like _Balinor. I should have seen that you were his son from the start. Lies have become second nature to you. I suppose he won, in the end. He didn't get to raise me, but his son, a sorcerer even greater than him, has taken control of my life - of my kingdom!"

"Arthur, if you think I'm the one in control between us, you have not listened to a single thing I have said."

"Balinor was also good at making my father think he was in charge. He made my father love him. But he held himself above mortal men. Is that why you and this dragon plotted to put me on the throne? Is that why you kept me safe - not out of any disinterested love on your part, but because you wanted something from me?"

"I never wanted to control you Arthur, even if I could! We are not our fathers. We have our own destiny to make. Our own successes, and our own mistakes."

"But they haven't been ours, have they? How could they be _our _successes, and _our _mistakes, when only one of us had all the knowledge? When you were keeping me in the dark, pulling my strings like a puppet all this time?"

"Sire…"

"If that's all you're willing to share, I suppose we're done here." Arthur began to walk towards his horse.

"Wait!" said Merlin. "Arthur! At least honour the promise you made to me."

"I said I wouldn't send _you _away. I didn't say anything about me staying."

"Arthur. Just… accept my pledge of allegiance. Don't leave me like this."

Arthur spun around. "What do you want from me, Merlin? To say I'm not furious? That I forgive you? That I trust you? That things will be the same between us? Because I _can't _say those things! Some of us can't _lie _as well as you!"

"No. I don't want you to say that, Arthur."

"Then what do you want from me?"

From the ground, Merlin reached upwards with his hand. His eyes shone with emotion as they looked into Arthur's, searching for something.

"Take me up," he said. "Take me up, Arthur. Not because you bear me love. Not because you forgive me. But because you need me. And when your destiny is fulfilled, cast me away. But not before then."

Arthur stared at Merlin for a long time. Then he reached down, took Merlin's hand, and pulled him to his feet.

* * *

The ride to Northumbria was a grim one. Arthur had barely spoken to Merlin in the two days leading up to their departure. The one exception had been him taking Merlin aside on the night before they left.

"Did you try to summon the great dragon?" he'd asked.

"Yes, sire. It… won't come."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It's possible this other beast is interfering with it somehow."

"Can a dragon-burnished blade slay a dragon?" Arthur demanded.

"I… why do you ask? I thought we'd agreed that I would make the dragons leave."

"But your voice isn't working on them, is it? Just answer the question. Can the sword kill them?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what good are you then?"

"It would have been easier to find out about magic if you hadn't killed everyone who'd practiced it, sire! The only person I could ask is the dragon, and he's hardly likely to teach me how to kill his own kind, is he? You only left one of him behind."

"My father hunted dragons. He also possessed weapons of dragon-burnished steel. That's what the Druids' vision showed me. This must be how he slew them."

"Your father did seem very… comfortable with Excalibur."

"Can't you ask the Druids about this?"

"Finna doesn't know either. She said most of the lore relating to dragons was concealed from all but the Dragonlords."

"What is the point of being a sorcerer if none of you can help with things like this?"

"Sire, you can't drive a people extinct, destroy all their knowledge, and then expect them to recover their wisdom in an instant because you now have need of it."

"Well, I hope for your sake your dragon friends listen to reason. Otherwise we'll have to slay them without hesitation. I won't lose any more men than necessary to our mistake."

"My mistake. You didn't know."

"Our mistake. It was my job to know you, Merlin."

Prior to their departure, Arthur distributed gold among his lords as compensation and reward for the battle fought in the valley. The men-at-arms, and particularly the mercenaries, had been expecting to fight human soldiers, not to fall prey to ghosts in the mist, and the talk of dragons unnerved them further. Merlin hoped their morale would not falter.

When they rode out, they left the greater part of their force behind to hold the border. Lord Broderick and Queen Annis volunteered to accompany the king. Each lord rode with but twenty knights, with assorted spearmen, archers, and other infantry, which brought their retinue to several hundred men. The Norman princes sent for a similar number of warriors to join them from their troops across the border. Such a number was deemed small enough not to provoke the Saxons until after the dragon threat was dealt with.

As they rode, Merlin kept stealing glances at Arthur.

The Norman prince and princess rode with them. Their steeds were grand, and finely caparisoned, with more ornate detail than the knights of Camelot were used to. Brother and sister both rode with assurance, and Merlin noticed that while the Norman knights were nominally under Prince Edward's command, they also reacted to Princess Marguerite's directions as though she were a seasoned captain.

"I have heard that one of the dragons is the more aggressive of the pair," said Prince Edward. "It has taken livestock to feed itself. But that is not the reason for its rampaging. It has made its lair on a hilltop, and it desires a hoard of treasure to line its den. It seems the beasts can smell gold and precious stones from a great distance, for the wyrm has torn up hillsides and burial mounds, dragging out the treasures within. It then fell on the wealthier towns, destroying merchant warehouses in pursuit of plunder. And finally it began assaulting the castles and keeps of the great lords.

"I hear the nobles are so frightened of drawing the beast's attention that they have dumped gold coins into the sea. The king has commanded that stockpiles of treasure should be broken up and distributed among the people, for it seems that large concentrations of wealth draw the creature. This may be the one time the common folk have been loath to receive the king's gold."

"What on earth can the dragon want with that much gold?" Arthur mused.

"I can little guess, my lord," said Edward. "They say that people have been offering human sacrifices to the dragon. They say some villages have sent the beast a virgin every day, in hopes of averting its fury."

There was a pause, while everyone contemplated this.

"That doesn't sound right," Gawaine said eventually. "I've been up North. I don't think they have that many virgins. They'd have run out by now."

"Maybe they wouldn't have a shortage if you hadn't been up there," said Percival.

"This makes even less sense," said Arthur in bemused tones. "Why would a dragon care about the marital status of the humans it was eating?"

"Well," said Bishop Rhodri, "there is precedent, sire. Many peoples have attributed mystical powers to those who preserve chastity of the soul and body. One thinks of the Vestal Virgins, or our own priesthood. One way this purity manifests itself is through affinity with certain fantastic beasts. For example, a unicorn was said to only allow the pure of heart to approach it. Often this meant the pure of body as well. Perhaps a dragon works on similar logic."

"Arthur and Merlin found a unicorn once," said Sir Leon helpfully.

"I didn't find it, exactly," said Arthur. "It concealed itself from all of us. But it showed itself to Merlin, and allowed him to approach."

"Yes..." said Gawaine in a thoughtful voice. "That makes sense."

Merlin was silent.

"What happened next?" asked Bishop Rhodri.

Leon said, "Arthur impaled the unicorn with his crossbow."

"Again," said Gawaine, "it all adds up. If the dragon wants virgins, I say we give it Merlin. That ought to keep it satisfied for the next fifty years."

"Maybe you can impale the dragon on your lance, Gawaine," said Merlin sharply. "Just imagine it's a cross-eyed tavern wench."

Gawaine quietened down, unaccustomed to such touchiness from the usually good-humoured Merlin.

The ride to Northumbria was a lengthy one. Though travelling as lightly as they could, it would take them almost a week to arrive in the region Prince Edward named Lancashire. The place sounded familiar to Merlin, though he could not recall much about it. He did know the outline of the old Saxon Heptarchy from his studies.

The Saxons had founded seven great kingdoms as they'd pushed the Brythons out of the land. In the south had been the kingdoms of Kent, Sussex, Essex and Wessex. In the centre of Saxon power had been Mercia and East Anglia. And finally Northumbria had flourished north of the river Humber.

All these kingdoms had been shaken when William the Conqueror had crossed the Channel and landed ships filled with warriors from Normandy. The southern Saxon kingdoms had fallen first, but the Saxon earls had rebelled against William again and again, until he had waxed wroth and butchered the Saxon nobles everywhere he found them. Next he had harried the North, burning, slaughtering and plundering without remorse.

More than a century had passed, and all the Saxons had submitted to the Norman yoke, their noble families extinguished and their independence forgotten. Norman-Frankish was the language of court all over Angland, and the Norman princes owned all the soil the Saxons tilled. One kingdom, however, still held out. Northumbria was on the border of Alba, and the Scots king's great grandmother had been a Saxon princess of the House of Wessex. With Scot support, the Saxons of Northumbria were stubbornly resisting Norman rule. But all knew they had lost, and their defeat was but a matter of time. The Normans held almost the whole island of Brython, and a single kingdom could not stand against them.

Merlin could not help pitying the Saxons. Many would say it was poetic justice for them to lose to the Normans the land they had taken from the Brythons half a millennium ago. Still, it grieved Merlin to see any people suffer, though he supposed it made no difference in the end.

_This is all Arthur's land. It matters not whether they speak Saxon or Frankish, whether they claim descent from King Alfred of Wessex, or Duke William of Normandy. Let them fight among themselves, until their true sovereign arises._

"I have heard the name of Lancashire before," said Merlin. "I cannot quite place it."

"Lancashire is famous for many things," said Prince Edward. "Perhaps the most famous is its witch trials."

"Witch trials?" Arthur echoed.

"Indeed, sire," said Prince Edward. "I have heard that your father's reign was marked by a craze for the execution of witches. But Camelot is not unique in this. Such fashions come and go, passing through all the kingdoms. We remember times when magic was looked on more fondly, at least if the stories I grew up with are anything to go by. Even the Church has been tolerant of so-called magicians at times. But it must be said that the pendulum has swung so far in the other direction all over Brython, that I believe Normans, Saxons and Scots alike are as harsh in their treatment of witches as Camelot is."

Arthur seemed to be restraining himself from turning to look at Merlin.

"Lancashire is particularly notorious," Prince Edward continued. "They say the soil of that country is unusually fertile in producing sorcerers. And the kings of the northern lands enjoy hunting witches more than they do any other sport. As for myself, I do not think magic is as widespread as people believe. No doubt many such cases are due to superstition. And when it does exist, I believe it can work for both good or ill. Though perhaps there was more weight to these cases than I thought, for dragons are magic beasts, and perhaps it was magic that attracted the creatures to Northumbria after all."

"You think not all magic is evil?" said Arthur.

"How can it be?" the prince replied. "It is a force of nature. It is men's hearts that are good or evil. Our ancient tales make it clear that our ancestors were far more tolerant of the arcane arts than we are today, for they were surrounded by magicians in the days of yore. We even have records of Nazarin priests and kings employing the talents of sorcerers.

"I understand your concern, noble cousin. I heard that there was a female Druid at court, tending to your Herald. Even if there are other Druids among your party, you must know that magicians are generally tolerated if they are subtle in their craft. Many people see their use, and are willing to turn a blind eye to charms if they are not malicious. So it is best that any Druids keep a low profile in Lancashire. They are unlikely to arrest a Druid healer unless she does something uncanny in front of a stranger. Still, it best not to tempt fate, and we should not give the Saxon or Norman lords any pretext to accuse us."

"Indeed," said Arthur loudly. "So far as I know, there are no sorcerers among my retinue. But we shall all have to tread carefully. The dragons are a great peril, but as we face them, we should not forget that we are surrounded by men who may bear us ill will, and may be even more dangerous foes than the beasts themselves."

Merlin did not give any indication that he understood the warning meant for him, but Arthur was good at reading his silences. They rode on.


	19. The Harlot City

Woe to her that is filthy and polluted, the oppressing city!

She obeyed not the voice; she received not correction…

Her princes within her are roaring lions; her judges are evening wolves… her priests have polluted the sanctuary, they have done violence to the law.

\- Zephaniah 3:1-4

* * *

In a small chamber within the grand cathedral of Camelot, Lady Guinevere Fairforge and the Archdeacon Hywel had been debating for over half an hour.

"As I said, my lady," said the archdeacon, "I am aware both your heart and your intentions are good."

"Then support my cause, my lord," said Gwen. "Defend me from those who would undermine me."

"While the Church appreciates the social work you have committed to, it is not enough to put bread in people's mouths. You risk advancing the physical welfare of your charges at the cost of their spiritual well-being."

"My lord," breathed Gwen, clearly exasperated. "It cannot be spiritually beneficial for a woman to be trapped in a state of misery for her entire life. Do you know how desperate the situation of the people in the lower town is? How much they must endure for the sake of a roof over their heads? I cannot send them back to homes where they are brutalised."

"This matter is more complicated than you suggest. It was one thing to take in your friend. Her husband had little wealth or influence. Perhaps we could have looked the other way. But we hear that many people now come and go to your properties without the knowledge or permission of their masters and husbands. Apart from the spiritual question, you are violating the legal rights of some powerful men. I need hardly remind you that your position is tenuous, my lady. Discretion is called for."

Guinevere looked away, as if casting around for inspiration. The cathedral had been one of her favourite places to visit as a child. It was as grand and beautiful as the palace, but open to all, bustling yet tranquil. It had meant something to her then, sharing in the sacraments, knowing that in this place God had made all equal, that even a servant like her had the same worth as any noble. This building had always given her a sense of peace, for within its walls the grim realities of the outside world feared to intrude.

"I am not a person who can see cruelty and remain silent for long," said Gwen at last. "I wondered why the king had singled me out for this role. The spite I have endured, the danger his attention has foisted on me, you cannot begin to imagine, my lord. But the more time passes, the more I can see the good I can accomplish. I have spent my whole life without power or voice. Perhaps some greater hand than the king's has guided the course of my life."

"No doubt that is true," said the archdeacon. "But it cannot be God's will for you to work against His own sacraments. My daughter… surely you understand that for you, especially, the appearance of propriety must be preserved."

Guinevere's cheeks coloured. "Do you think anything untoward has occurred between myself and His Majesty, my lord?"

"It matters not what I think. The point is that many see your relationship with the king as over-familiar. Were it his intention to court you, he had ample opportunity to do so. The reason he has accepted neither your hand nor another woman's is known only to him. Nevertheless, given your public behaviour, how can you interfere in marital disputes between a noblewoman and her husband? The lords may rightly call into question your respect for the sanctity of the matrimonial bond."

"Sanctity?" sputtered Gwen. "What sanctity? Cadi's husband is a brute! Her pastor has done nothing for years. And when I took her into my service, to give her a brief respite from the torment, her husband appealed to the Church, and now I am ordered to deliver my friend back into misery. And as for Lady White, her husband's infidelities are infamous. Do you know the things that go on in that household? I have heard but a fraction of them, and they make me ill. Can sanctity exist in such a state?"

"My daughter," said the archdeacon tiredly. "I have tried to explain to you that marriage is of a dual nature. There is a civil union, a worldly contract, which men do abuse. This is a great tragedy. As a flawed, mortal institution, wedlock is often cruel and imperfect. But marriage also has a sacramental component. This is a holy vow, taken before God, and it binds two souls for eternity. This rite was ordained by God that two mortal souls might mutually experience the mystery of His love in its purest form. It is a reflection of God's own love, and His Son's love for His creation. This cannot be put aside so easily. To undermine this is to destroy the very basis of our Faith.

"I have offered you a compromise. We may tolerate the separation of your maidservant Cadi from her husband. Her case, and those of the other commoners in your care, may be brought before an ecclesiastical tribunal. But Lady White must be returned to her wedded lord. I cannot offer more than this, not until the archbishop returns. I have no choice in this matter."

"We always have a choice, my lord," retorted Guinevere. "You have proved it. You will dissolve the marriage of commoners when it suits you, because the husbands have no wealth. But you tremble before a man with a title and dominions. You will return his wife because you fear the temporal power of princes, even when it interferes with your religious duty."

"Have a care, my lady," replied Archdeacon Hywel. "Both religious duty and right by law compel me to return wives to their husbands, and servants to their masters. It were well for you to meditate on what your own duty is."

"You preach the virtues of suffering to women, while turning a blind eye to their husbands' misdemeanours. You bend God's law to the whims of the nobles. My lord, you are old enough to remember how King Uther took Duchess Ygraine to wife. Did you remind him of the sanctity of the marital bond then?"

The archdeacon drew himself up, looking discomfited. "I would remind you again of propriety, my lady. To impeach the honour of a king's birth is treason. I do not listen to idle gossip."

"Unless it concerns myself and His Majesty, apparently. Well, put aside idle gossip, and let us deal with facts. Is it not a fact that King Uther slew the Duke of Tintagel and married his wife mere days later?"

"What is the purpose of this line of questioning? If you believe there was aught amiss with the manner of the late king's marriage, that is all the more reason for the utmost moral propriety to be observed in the kingdom now. Or would you rather be remembered as a patroness of adultery? You have one week to see that Lady White returns to her lawfully wedded husband, my lady. Beyond that time, I may no longer mediate in this case. It shall be turned over the civil authorities, and Lord White may have his wife by force."

Archdeacon Hywel made a little bow, and disappeared into a side passage. Gwen swept out of the room in frustration. In the nave, she paused before the altar to cross herself in front of the Maiden. _Lady, give me strength, _she prayed, before hurrying down the length of the cathedral and across the threshold, where her retinue awaited her.

Lady Fairforge's train was made up of knights, pages and handmaids. At the head of this company stood a tall, regal woman in the sombre garb of an abbess. Her head was bowed meditatively before one of the carved doors of the cathedral, which depicted St Margaret the Virgin piercing a dragon with a golden cross. The other door bore a relief of St George impaling a different dragon on his lance.

The Pendragon kings were not known for their subtlety.

King Uther had added these engravings to the great portal in his time, and also placed a stained glass image of himself within the walls of the cathedral. In the glass painting, Uther took on the iconography of both saints, standing crowned and glorious over the Great Dragon of Camelot, the beast cast down by his might, and confined in a cave beneath his throne, like the giant serpent the Vykings had said was chained to the roots of the World-Tree.

It had been said that on quiet days, whenever the great church bells rang, the dragon's roars were heard in answer deep beneath the castle, as it wept for being the last of its kind. People still said they heard its cries on the wind, long after the beast had been driven away and slain by Arthur.

Some swore that during the dragon's attack on Camelot, the image of St George had come to life and ridden outside the city gates, and miraculously shielded the king and his herald from the beast's flames. Other peasants swore that when they had taken shelter in the cathedral, St Margaret had lifted her golden cross, and not a stone of the church had been scorched by the dragon's breath.

Gwen considered herself a believing woman, yet she found it hard to credit the sheer weight of folklore which the city groaned under. The miracles the faithful believed in were often more outlandish than the works of sorcerers themselves.

"A productive visit, my lady?" asked Abbess Flavia, interrupting Gwen's thoughts with her beautiful Frankish-laced tones. A long time ago, in another life, the abbess had been the daughter of a younger Norman baron. She had been passing beautiful, and given the superior education of a noblewoman, though she had taken the veil as a maid and given up the world for contemplation of God.

She had been one of Arthur's tutors, and a sort of governess to him, once upon a time. Arthur had recommended her to Gwen as a mentor in courtly ways and a trusted ally.

"Not at all, I'm afraid, Reverend Mother." Gwen descended the marble steps, and her company of knights and attendants fell in behind her, headed by the abbess and another sister.

"This is no surprise," said the abbess. "The archdeacon is a stubborn old goat. He cannot form an original thought without the permission of the archbishop."

"I don't know what to do," said Gwen. "I must return Lady White within a week. Perhaps I can persuade her to leave Camelot. But she's so young. She was married while barely more than a girl. She's too frightened to live anywhere else."

"Were it not for my elder sisters, I might have suffered the same fate as this girl. At the end of this week, send her to the abbey. We may delay proceedings against her there."

"Is that safe? Hasn't the archbishop disciplined you for resisting him before?"

"The archbishop is not here. When he returns, the king will be with him. You must prevail upon His Majesty to use his influence in this case. We shall harbour the girl until then. Afterwards, her fate is in your hands."

Guinevere turned, and bowed her head to the abbess in gratitude. "Gramercy for your kindness, Reverend Mother," she said. "You have done more for me than most."

"Kindness speaks to kindness," replied Abbess Flavia. "The last lord of Wyldheim spent all his revenues on arming the king's knights. God has not placed us on this earth merely to make war upon our brothers, but to ease the plight of the afflicted. You have contributed much to our causes. A lady who has known life's hardships firsthand, and gives of her own substance to succour the needy, shall always have friends among the Sisters of Our Lady of Clairvaux."

The main streets of Camelot were especially picturesque in the spring sunlight. Tall Norman towers and squat, ancient stone buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, all clothed with coloured drapes. The city was much emptier in the absence of the king's court, and with His Majesty's knights and men-at-arms ridden to war, a mere ghost force of guards had been left behind to keep the peace. These men were supplemented by the forces of the earls who were still mustering their troops in support of the king.

Guinevere saw the gold and black banners of the Maddocks, and the white and black shields of the Protheros, everywhere she looked. She had been in the city less than a day, and it troubled her how numerous the soldiers of these lords were, how they drank and brawled in the streets, and quarrelled with the citizens, as though they were not guests in their king's capital.

_The king has been gone almost two weeks. These lords should have ridden to the front with him by now. How long can it take them to prepare for this skirmish?_

Two knights in the stark colours of the Protheros stood opposite a guildhouse, from which a veiled Avramite woman now emerged. One of the knights nudged his companion as the woman came down the steps and made to bypass them.

"Halt!" the knight said to the damsel, who dutifully came to a stop. "Name yourself, damoiselle."

The maid inclined her head respectfully. "I am Devra, daughter of Japheth, by grace of His Majesty a merchant of Camelot, if it please you, Sir Knights."

"Have you anything to prove your identity?" asked the knight.

The woman reached into a small bag tied to her waist, and withdrew a sheaf of parchments. "I have documents proving my identity, and a letter of safe passage from the Exchequer of the Beyn Avrami here."

"Those letters could be borne by anyone," said the second knight. "Uncover your face, that we may see you."

The woman hesitated. "Sir Knights, I am known to many persons about this city. Any member of the king's court will vouch for me."

"The king's court is not here," replied the second knight. "And in His Majesty's absence, we are on high alert for sorcerers. The Druids can take any form they please, and their agents may be at large in the city. Your documents are no longer sufficient. Uncover yourself."

The woman wavered again. "It is the custom among my people that we do not unveil ourselves in the presence of unknown men. Perhaps if you were to bring a lady of the court-"

"It is the custom among our people," replied the second knight, "that commoners obey the directives of knights born. Do not make me ask you again."

"Peace, Sir Kaed," said the first knight, with a show of magnanimity. "A lady's ear craves sweetness." Turning to the Avramite woman with exaggerated courtesy, he declared, "Fair Rose of Sharon! Unfold thy petals, and let us behold the pearls and rubies of the Temple."

The damsel recoiled with contempt. "Sir Knight, do you name me a rose, even while you trample my people underfoot as weeds? You are a warrior, not a poet, to flatter with empty words. Enough of this prattle."

Sir Kaed scoffed. "See what you get for your trouble, Meret? Your hospitality is repaid with their thorns." He put his hand on his sword-hilt, as if he meant to take the damsel's words literally.

By then, Guinevere had drawn close enough to understand what was happening.

"Stay your arm, Sir Knight," Gwen called. "I know this damsel. I vouch for her, and take her into my keeping."

The knights appeared taken aback by the arrival of Guinevere and her companions. Sir Meret looked Guinevere up and down.

"Name yourself," he said.

"I am Lady Guinevere Fairforge," replied Gwen.

A strange expression dawned on Sir Kaed's face, but his companion was unmoved.

"I know of no noble House by that name," said Sir Meret.

"Then perhaps you know the seal on this ring?" asked Guinevere, removing the token of her rank, and holding it before the knight. "This ring bears the crest of your king, and it was given me on the day he created me Lady Fairforge. Were you present at his coronation, at the least? Did you hear how he swore to govern the peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs? How he spoke of the rich variety of people within his kingdom, and their many beliefs? Will you persecute his own subjects, even while you swear to uphold his peace? Is this the mercy and justice shown by the king's knights?"

Sir Meret looked somewhat cowed. Sir Kaed whispered in his ear, and his attitude changed.

"We meant no disrespect, my lady," Sir Meret said eventually. "We are merely trying to keep the city safe while His Majesty is at war."

"I see how safe this place has become in your presence," said Guinevere. "Mistress Devra. Kindly accompany me."

Devra went to Guinevere's side, and Gwen hurried them away, her knights bringing up the rear with their own hands on their sword-hilts.

"It seems," said Devra, "that I am making a habit of being in your family's debt, my lady."

"There is no debt," said Guinevere. "An injustice to anyone is an injustice to all."

When there were no knights or soldiers in sight but Guinever's own, Devra lowered her voice.

"The city is not safe, my lady. It were best you had never returned. You should ride to your estate at once and prepare for siege. I pray it is not already too late."

"What do you mean?" asked Gwen in surprise.

"The earls have been wreaking havoc since their arrival. Lord Prothero demanded a vast sum of silver from our merchants. We refused, but he extorted it by force, and the craftsmen have been toiling to arm his knights and soldiers ever since. The earls' men-at-arms run riot. They have not stirred to leave the Citadel, or to ride to the king's aid."

"Why hasn't the king's council put a stop to this?"

"I have not seen any of the council in days. I have gained no admission to the palace."

Guinevere felt cold. "Where's Master Gaius?"

"He was treating my father. I attempted to visit his chambers three days ago, and was turned away. No physician or patient of his has seen him, not since Lord Maddock arrived. The home guard were small enough in number, and the knights of Prothero and Maddock have taken over many of their duties. They watch every gate. People enter the city, but I have seen no nobleman leave."

Guinevere came to a halt.

"You speak of treachery," said Abbess Flavia.

Guinevere said, "Those two earls would not dare defy Arthur alone. This must have been planned far in advance. The city has men enough to hold her gates against assault from outside, but if the earls have turned, she is already lost from within."

Understanding came over her. "The war with the Normans," she said softly. "The marcher lords goaded the king into leaving the city with his court and all his armies. They meant him to leave Camelot defenceless. But if that's true… some of the earls who ride with the king must know of this scheme. He is not safe in their company. They must mean for him to be slain in the war."

"Let me send word to him," said Abbess Flavia. "The earls will not restrain the movement of a woman of the Church."

"Can you do so, without any of his earls seeing the message?" asked Gwen. "What if they search his letters?"

"My lady, allow me to help," said Devra. "My brother, Elam ben Japheth, is with the king. Address your missive to him. I will disguise the message within a bill of sale. Numbers, when scribed in the Saracen character, may form a cipher, which can only be broken by a key. It is unlikely to be recognised, though my brother will understand it instantly."

"Thank you," said Gwen. "You take a risk."

"His Majesty spared my father a painful trial. We repay our debts, with interest."

"Are you safe for the moment?"

"None of us are. But I may not flee the city while my people remain here. Already rioting has broken out in the lower town. I may not leave them to be plundered by knights and peasants alike. While I remain here, you may depend upon me."

"Thank you," said Gwen again. Turning to one of her maidservants, she said, "Cadi, I need you to lose us, then go to the Citadel. Find the head cook, or Mistress Rhona. Nothing goes on in the castle without their knowledge. If Gaius or any of the small council are being confined there, they will know. They can be trusted. But you can't let any of the guards know you're connected to me. Can you do this?"

Cadi didn't hesitate. "I can do anything for you, Gwen." She pulled her hood tighter about her face, and hurried off down the street.

"And what would you have us do, my lady?" asked Sir Riece. The young knight, clad in the handsome blue surcoat of the Pendreds, had become the leader of the men-at-arms in Guinevere's service. It was customary for even a minor baroness to have knights pledged to her from the younger sons of neighbouring noble houses, who sought honour and rewards through service, to make up for their own small inheritance. Gwen knew that many of the older families of Camelot still scorned her, but the king's favour, and her brother Elyan's leadership and valour among the knights, had nevertheless earned her a following. She knew what it cost these men, and she had heard people calling them the Kitchen Knights and Scullery Knights for following her, just as they called her Lady Chambermaid. But the insults only spurred them to defend her honour with greater tenacity, and Sir Riece was perhaps the most chivalrous of them all.

"I fear," said Guinevere, "that I have placed you all in danger by returning here. We are too small a company to resist the earls, but too large to escape notice. I should not have gone to the archdeacon, or disputed with those knights in the street. We are too close to the king for the Maddocks or Protheros to allow us to leave the city now.

"We shall return to our lodgings. None of these earls know my face well. They have only seen me as a baroness, and I may be able to leave our chambers in the company of my serving girls. I know Lowtown well, better than the palace-born, and certainly better than these earls. I still have friends in these streets, and may disappear into them. However, you knights will have to remain in our quarters, and keep up the pretense of my presence as long as you may. I fear the earls will come for you soon."

"Will you have us fight them, my lady?" asked Sir Riece.

"No! I will not have your blood spilled. Delay them as long as you can, but surrender to them when you must. We lack the numbers to contend with this many men. We must hold out until the king returns. I fear you will not be treated well in their custody."

"My lady," said Riece, "when your brother was not yet a knight, he took arms against the undead to recover this city for his king. Surely we who are sworn to the Knight's Code, and trained under Sir Elyan, can endure the wrath of mortal men for our king's sake."

"Your valour becomes you." Gwen now turned to the sisters. "Reverend Mother, I cannot allow you to become involved in this. Please get word to the king, and then protect yourselves as best you can."

"I was not aware we required your permission to act, my daughter," said Abbess Flavia. "This is a difficult matter. For we are set apart from worldly things, yet we may act in the world to avert injustice. I must pray on this matter. In the meantime you may find us at the house of the Little Sisters of St Augustine. We shall not leave the city while the question of your safety remains. I am curious to know how much the archdeacon has observed of these happenings, and why he has not acted. This is not a light matter, that an earl should go against the sovereign crowned and anointed by the Archbishop of Mother Church."

To Devra, the abbess said, "My daughter, accompany us. We shall draft the letter in all haste. You shall have all the protection we can afford."

Devra inclined her head in acquiescence.

"Then we all have our tasks," said Gwen. "Move swiftly, and take care not to be followed." She absent-mindedly rubbed the ring on her finger, the badge of office entrusted to her by Arthur. It was not the ring popular gossip had said she would receive from the king, but it entailed a vow of loyalty as strong as that binding any other union.

"For the love of Camelot," she said.

The party split in two, and its members were soon lost in the high streets.

* * *

As the cathedral's great bells tolled in the distance, Lord Maddock betook himself to the dungeons. Stopping before two cells of interest, he made a gesture, and the guards departed, leaving him alone in the company of the elderly occupants.

"Good morning, Gaius," he said. "Geoffrey."

The aged physician pulled himself upright from the stone ground. "What is the point of this, Arwel?" he said in a hoarse voice, cracked from thirst. "Neither of us has changed our mind. And neither of us will. Surely there are better uses of your time."

"I have come to inform you of some good news. I no longer require either of you."

"What do you mean?" said Gaius.

"You could have made this much easier on yourself."

"Unlike you," said Gaius, "some of us take our vows of loyalty seriously."

"What nonsense," said Lord Maddock. "Didn't you owe loyalty to other scholars of magic during the Great Purge? You know nothing of loyalty, and less of courage, physician. It was self-preservation that bound you to Uther. Though I cannot think what keeps you in service to his memory even now. Fear of his shade, perhaps."

"It doesn't surprise me you can't fathom loyal service. Uther was a greater man than you will ever be."

"Age _has _robbed you of sense, hasn't it? You were one of the few witnesses to the king's birth. All I asked of you was to speak the truth. Yet you choose to protect him. It is common knowledge that unnatural powers were active at his conception, that he was born of unlawful lust. Tell the people the truth about their king, physician!"

"That is idle gossip and slander. I will not lend credence to these fables."

"And you," said Lord Maddock, shifting his gaze to the other prisoner. "Keeper of Records. As chief of the heralds, you have the power to confer arms and strip them from noble houses. How many family trees have you hacked at, and scorched to the ground, for trifling offences? All while serving a king whose ancestry is rife with dishonourable vices? The dragon on his crest should hang its head in shame."

"My answer to you," said Geoffrey, "remains the same as Gaius'. I cannot modify the records to suit the whims of any man. The genealogies are sacred. There was nothing untoward recorded in Arthur's birth, and unless you present me with evidence otherwise, I may not rewrite the truth."

"Fortunately," said Lord Maddock, "the archdeacon is a more pliable man than you old fools."

"What?" Gaius painfully dragged himself closer to the bars. "What is this, Arwel?"

"Your king's piety is doubted by the Church. He has not produced an heir. He has made friendly overtures to sorcerers and heathens. He keeps poor company. His strange behaviour portends the madness of his father. I have spoken to Archdeacon Hywel, and persuaded him that a tribunal should look into circumstances of Arthur's birth."

"To what purpose?" said Gaius. "Does the archdeacon seek to join you in treason?"

"It is not treason to defy a wrongly invested king. I have found other witnesses to cast doubt on Uther's marriage. There are men who say the Duke of Tintagel was still breathing when Arthur was conceived. They will testify that Uther certainly knew of this. Other men will swear that Ygraine knowingly lay with a man who was not her lord husband. The Church takes a dim view of children born of wilful adultery."

"This is more hearsay," said Gaius.

"It is enough," replied Lord Maddock. "Enough to loosen the king's grip on his crown. I will effectively have Arthur declared illegitimate. It will merely be legislating what is popular opinion. The only other pretender to Pendragon blood is Morgana, another bastard, and a sorceress of the Old Religion, friendless and excommunicated. Uther's line will end here."

"You selfish fool," said Gaius. "You will plunge this kingdom into anarchy."

"I will free us," said Maddock, "from the yoke of the Pendragons. Do you know many of my ancestors fell to the Pendragon lords? Uther and his father saw us bled by Eireian raiders, and never stirred a finger, except to butcher us and plunder us further. We have both seen our friends tortured at Pendragon hands, Gaius. The difference is that I cannot turn my back on duty as easily as you. No more. It ends here. Know that all your suffering has been for naught, and that you will be with your beloved Uther soon enough."

And Lord Maddock left the cells.

After a while, Geoffrey said, "This is my first time in here, Gaius. You and I have had full lives. Yet somehow, much seems undone… what a strange world this is."

Gaius looked towards the corner of the chamber, where he could see a bar of light creeping under the door.

"The world belongs to the young now," he said at last. "We have to trust them to make better choices than we did."

* * *

**A/N**: Hi everyone, unfortunately updates are going to be very slow for a while. I've started studying again and I'm really not coping with the workload I have with my job and other commitments. The next few chapters are also going to be flashbacks rather than directly advancing the plot. Bear with me, they just felt right here and I think they will help flesh out the characters a bit more. I don't know how linear I want this story to be, it's a bit scattered, because that's how my brain works.

I have a fairly good idea of how I want the next chapter or two to look, so hopefully they'll come out a bit quicker If. If you like Arthur, Merlin and Morgana, I think you're in for a treat :) take care.


	20. A Servant of Two Mistresses

"And the third sister Morgan le Fay was put to school in a nunnery, and there she learned so much that she was a great clerk of necromancy."

\- Sir Thomas Malory, _Le Morte d'Arthur_

* * *

"Mary's body has acquired something great... From being mortal it has been made immortal… though it was made from the earth it has passed through the gates of heaven."

\- St Athanasius of Alexandria, _Ad Epictetum Episcopam_

"I am a High Priestess. No mortal blade can kill me… I hold the power of the heavens in my hand… "

\- Morgana, _Merlin _(2012), The Diamond of the Day/Arthur's Bane.

* * *

"O Hecate! grave three-faced queen of these charms of enchanters, and enchanters' arts! O fruitful Earth, giver of potent herbs! O gentle Breezes and destructive Winds! You Mountains, Rivers, Lakes and sacred Groves, and every dreaded god of silent Night! Attend upon me!—When my power commands, the rivers turn from their accustomed ways and roll far backward to their secret springs! I speak-and the wild, troubled sea is calm, and I command the waters to arise! The clouds I scatter—and I bring the clouds; I smooth the winds and ruffle up their rage; I weave my spells and I recite my charms… I blast the forests. Mountains at my word tremble and quake… "

\- Ovid, _Metamorphoses, Book 7. _Translated by Brookes More.

* * *

The lady in black stood atop the promontory, gazing out to sea, like a widow mourning a lost sailor. The wind dragged at her sable cloak and played with her dark tresses, fanning them like ravens' feathers.

Behind her, spreading out along the rocky coast of the Lothian, a crowd of knights and nobles were massed under the banners of Kings Lot and Urien of Gore.

When patterned sails appeared out to sea, cries of alarm resounded through the throng of people.

"How can this be?" said King Lot, turning to look at his lords. "We paid the Danegeld! Ragnar has ever kept his word before."

"It is as the Priestess foretold," said King Urien loudly. "I warned you, brother! She said the Vykings would not keep faith with you! You did not heed her then. Attend her now."

The longships came on, ploughing the waters, gliding more swiftly than any vessel made by shipwrights among the Brythons. Their prows were carved in the likeness of fierce dragonheads, and their striped sails fluttered behind them like wings, so that it appeared a flock of monsters were churning the sea in fury as they advanced.

Truth be told, the people of the Lothian would have feared real dragons less. The wounds left by the first Vyking raiders in the souls of the Brythons had still not healed.

The Lady Morgana alone, of all the observers, was not afraid as she watched the sea. The Danelords loved the water, and they believed it their own element. Their ships were invincible in war, their longboats swift in plunder. Though supposedly converted to the Nazarin rite, many of them called upon the Thunderer in raids, and he filled their sails with wind, transporting them back and forth over the waves, as though they were mounted on Neptune's chariots. They thought themselves masters of the sea.

But they would soon learn the waters of Brython were under the sway of a greater power. Their Thunderer was a stripling, a mere green boy, before the Mother of the Gods. She permitted him to bang his hammers, to stir up the ocean's waves like a child in play. She would not permit him to have power over a High Priestess of the Old Ways.

_I am the guardian of these seas, _thought Morgana. _The last one. Since Emrys' malice has taken both Nimueh and my sister Morgause from me._

She had always felt a kinship with the ocean. Hadn't she spent her childhood by the waters, in the convent of _Notre Dame des Douleurs_? The Sisters of Our Lady of Sorrows had been Morgana's first family, the only one she'd known, until Uther had repented and returned for her. That convent, Morgana's home, had housed the Lady whom the Nazarins called Stella Maris, the Star of the Sea.

The most sombre place within the convent had been the central shrine, erected to the Mother of the Saviour. This place had been the warm heart of the nunnery, the focus of the Sisters' songs and services. And yet, despite the joy it inspired, the shrine had been a morbid thing, a source of both fear and fascination to the young Morgana. For the Lady in the sanctum had been depicted not smiling and benevolent, but weeping and alone, with seven longswords plunging deep into her heart, transfixing her body in agony.

Before this altar, kind Sister Nuala, the closest thing to a mother Morgana remembered, had spent hours kneeling in prayer, her face turned towards the wounded Lady.

"Holy Mother, hail to thee," she would murmur. "Thou who caused the Angel's mouth to proclaim: '_Ave! _Blessed art thou among women!', hail to thee. Through thee the curse of Eve has been made a blessing. Eve, the Mother of Man, has been justified by her daughter, the Mother of God. Hail to thee! The fall of Man was caused by woman's weakness, but Man's salvation is borne through a woman's grace. Blessed Mother, Ever-Virgin, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death."

One fateful day, Morgana had asked Sister Nuala why the Lady of Galilee was in such torment, if she had the blessing of the Risen God. A strange look had come over the older woman's face.

"Suffering is a double-edged blade, Morgana," she'd said reverently. "It is only when we are wounded, cut to the quick, that our hearts are truly opened. Suffering is the gravest experience at the heart of Creation, and the gateway to the most profound joy. All those who were touched by divine grace have shared in some part of the suffering the Saviour bore on the cross. It is because the Holy Maiden suffered so much in life that she is so attuned to the cries of the souls who fly to her now. Like her Son, she is ever ready to take on the pain of others. That is why she welcomed the burdens the Lord placed on her, even as they pierced her to the very core of her being."

Inspired by Sister Nuala's passion, a sudden fervour had come upon the child Morgana then. "I want to be just like Our Lady," she had declared. "I want to take away all the pains of others. Let me take on their burdens, let me experience the mystery of suffering, so I can know God as Our Lady did."

As they had made to leave the shrine, Morgana had been approached by Mother Priscilla, a stooped old crone with an evil reputation. The girls whispered that Mother Priscilla had been trained in the Old Religion as a lass, and that her conversion to the Nazarin faith had not been entirely sincere, for she had come to the nuns to escape the stake, rather than out of genuine faith.

"'Tis done, my child," Mother Priscilla had said with a cackle, her gnarled fingers taking hold of Morgana. "Ye've wished for it, and so it'll come to pass. Ye'll know sorrow as great as Our Lady did, aye, and then some. Ye'll be driven, friendless and alone, from the kingdom of yer people, just as Our Lady fled with her boy. Seven times ye'll be wounded, and the seventh blow will pierce you to your heart of hearts, and it'll come from a sweet friend. The poison and the blade, my lady! The poison and the blade. Ye'll know the mysteries of suffering right enough, never ye mind!"

Morgana had not understood those words then. She wondered now if Mother Priscilla had been a prophetess of the Triple Goddess. The Old Religion found ways to survive, even in the heart of the New Religion's temples.

On the day before Morgana had departed the convent, Mother Superior had summoned her to her chambers.

"You are about to leave us, girl," she'd said. "You were brought up to be a handmaid of the Lord, but now you shall be a lady of the court. Man's World is a corrupt place, filled with danger at every turn, especially for a woman. You must be on your guard, Morgana. After the Fall, a war began between Spirit and Flesh, and though Man was tempted second, he fell further than Woman. Men have hearts like wild beasts, and in Man's World they shall have total power over you. In that court, you shall have no guardian but King Uther and God Himself.

"I have two pieces of advice for you. You have a compassionate heart, and it will not easily bear the brutalities of the court. I know you cannot stand to see others in pain, but you must not rush to take up the crosses of the afflicted so quickly. Life will have plenty of suffering in store for you without you having to seek out more. Further, learn obedience. I have punished you often for rebellion here. If you found our discipline harsh, you will tremble at what a king may do to you."

And so Morgana had left the convent for Camelot with nothing but a rosary of amber, and an icon of the Blessed Virgin, which Sister Ethelgifa had kept in Morgana's room at nights to stop her visions and fits of sleepwalking.

In the convent, life had been organised around the Lady of Sorrows. But for a rare visit from a priest, the only people Morgana had known had been women. Women held power, made decisions and issued commands, and it had seemed natural to Morgana that women should be the ones in authority.

In court, life revolved around men, who were suddenly everywhere. The central figure was King Uther, and a close second was his son, Prince Arthur, followed by the lords and knights. The palace had all the rituals, ceremonies and devotions of the convent, but instead of honouring the Lady of Galilee, all the services glorified the king and his nobles. Even the Archbishop seemed subservient to the king, and when Morgana went to the cathedral for solace, in place of the kindly Sisters she had been expecting, all she had seen were warrior-saints and imperious bishops with croziers instead of longswords.

It had been difficult for Morgana to adjust to this new reality. She saw many things that appalled her at court, most prominently the brutality of Uther's war against magic. At first, in her naivete, she had openly confronted the king, but it soon became clear that she had no power to gainsay him. Then, much as it offended her pride, she began to learn from the ladies of the court, women who had no influence except through steering the men around them. She taught herself cunning, studying men so she could see what their strengths and weaknesses were, what words would move them, how to nudge them into one choice over another.

She found an ally in Arthur, who had a gentle heart, but lacked the willpower to oppose his father directly. She was frustrated by how little Arthur used the great rank he had, even when he saw his father's laws were wrong. _What a waste of his birthright, _she thought. _If only I were Arthur's blood sister. The Pendragon men have power, but they have little interest in using it to make the world a better place. If only I had authority in my own right, instead of having to nag Arthur into using his conscience now and again. _

As the years went by, and she saw the Church giving its blessing to the king's bloody wars, however unjust, Morgana lost the urge to pray. _The Blessed Virgin is like any other woman at court, _she thought. _She has no power here, in man's world. Truly, she never had power in her own right. She only has influence through her Son and the Heavenly Father, power that she borrows from men, power that men allow her to have. She is as helpless as I am. She cannot grant me the strength to change anything. _Morgana eventually gave the icon of Our Lady of Sorrows away to her maidservant, Guinevere. Afterwards, her strange dreams began to return, visions of fire and darkness, and of winged cherubim blazing in the heavens. She saw the Lady crowned with twelve stars, but consumed with grief, weeping, with a fresh sword plunged into her heart. Morgana felt guilty, for she felt she had driven the sword into the Lady's breast herself, but soon even these shadowy images had faded.

And then, much later, Morgause had come.

Morgana remembered kneeling in the salt waves off the Blessed Isle, Morgause sprinkling her head with droplets of water.

"Morgana," Morgause had said. "Do you know what Lady Ygraine named you, sister? Do you know what your name means in the Old Tongue of Brython? _Mor Gan. _Sea-born. Now be baptised in the waters of the Goddess, be born again from the waves. Arise, Morgana Sea-Born."

That day Morgana had made her choice - or perhaps it had been made for her. The will of the Goddess was like the currents of the ocean, deep, unknowable and irresistible. Perhaps Morgana's course had been set long before her birth. She felt like a ship adrift, tossed hither and thither by swells she could barely comprehend.

Some part of her regretted casting away the Lady of Sorrows, but Morgana could not be a servant of two mistresses. And the Lady she served now was the queen of sorceresses. To the followers of the Old Religion, women and men alike, she brought true power. Power to make the world a better place. Power to make the unrighteous tremble.

Power which the Vykings would witness today.

Father Marcas, a priest of the Nazarin rite, dressed all in black like Morgana, now turned to King Lot.

"Sire," he said, "we lack the strength to repel such a fleet! We must send messengers to your people! Let their families take refuge in the churches and pray for God's mercy. Even barbarians may fear to despoil the sanctuaries of the Lord. St Augustine of Hippo tells us that when the Visigoths sacked Roma, the pagan gods were powerless to defend the Imperial City, but those who took refuge in churches of the true Lord were spared. These Vykings believe in the Saviour, so we must pray they are virtuous barbarians after the Visigoths, and that they will not slaughter innocents in the houses of religion as their heathen ancestors did."

"Hold, Father," called Morgana. "There will be no need for the people to fly to your houses of worship. They are already under the protection of a greater power, though they know it not."

Two of King Urien's pages brought forth a milk-white bull. The beast seemed dazed, as though drugged, but it still thrust its hooves into the ground, resisting its captors. The attendants overpowered it, dragging it forward by its golden halter. A golden knife appeared in Morgana's hand.

Father Marcas looked to the kings in appeal. "My lords, surely you cannot mean to put your trust in this sorceress' charms? Will you allow your kingdom to follow her into damnation?"

King Urien replied, "This kingdom has already been ravaged. Your people have been beggared year after year, paying off the Vyking fleets. And all your hymns, Father, have been powerless to safeguard your flock. Why not allow the High Priestess to wield her power if it will spare them?"

"Because," said Father Marcas, "such power as she wields comes with a terrible price. You may curse the Danes, sire, but the coin they plundered from us was only silver. This sorceress' crafts are purchased with something far dearer, for she places her own soul in the scales, and her Master's fee will grow without limit. The Fiend is the prince of contracts, and his interest is charged so steeply that the Avramite financiers look charitable by comparison."

"This is mere superstition, Father," retorted King Urien. "Our forefathers respected the Old Religion, though we have forgotten its ways. Its rituals are foreign to you, and therefore you label it devilry out of misapprehension."

"Do our eyes not apprehend correctly? Do you not see the beast whose blood she means to spill? What power can she mean to dedicate it to?"

King Urien scoffed. "Sacrifice alone cannot be proof of the Fiend's involvement. Father, have you not read the Old Book, with its description of the Mosaical Law? Did God not demand sacrifices from His chosen people? Were they not instructed to make burnt offerings, to slaughter the firstborn calf and the fatted lamb? Was Abraham not prepared to offer up his own son?"

"Those were the terms of the Old Covenant!" exclaimed Father Marcas. "Under the New Covenant, sacrifice is ended. God has already performed the perfect sacrifice, by giving the life of His own Firstborn Son, pure and without stain. Next to this, no offering of beast or man can compare, and nothing further will be asked, for God has paid the blood-debt in our lieu.

"Therefore, if this sorceress makes offerings, it cannot be to the True God. She sacrifices to the Old Powers, the angels who rule over this world, and grant dominion over the Earth to their worshippers. After the war in Heaven, the followers of the Deceiver were cast out and driven into the Abyss. These evil spirits put on attractive forms, style themselves gods and goddesses, and tempt the ignorant into worshipping them, for they would have all men follow them into damnation.

"Sire, you must not allow this priestess to lead you astray, for a king who breaks God's commandments jeopardises his entire kingdom. Recall how King Ahab allowed Jezebel to tempt him away from God, and how he defiled the high places and temples by setting up shrines to that hateful Goddess Astarte. Would you be such an unfaithful king, to turn your people away from righteousness, and have the sword of the Lord be unsheathed against them?"

As if stirred by the priest's words, the lady in black turned and moved towards Father Marcas.

"_Pax vobis, Pater,"_ she greeted him, with a gravity that belied her years. Had the priest been expecting the lascivious conduct of a wanton witch, he must have been disappointed with the woman's attitude.

"Do you mock me?" he asked her.

"Indeed I do not," she replied. "Fear me not, Father. What I seek is the safety of this kingdom, by the offering of prayers for her subjects."

"And what unholy prayers are these?"

"Prayers for protection. Perhaps even some known to you." The woman's eyes blazed, and a rich timbre entered her voice. "_Surge, Domine, et dissipentur inimici tui! Et fugiant qui oderunt te a facia tua!"_

Father Marcas started, and crossed himself. "How marvellous is the power of the Deceiver, that he places Holy Scripture in the mouths of his servants, as if putting the bleating of lambs in the jaws of wolves! But Holy Writ is perverted when invoked by an evil witness, just as honey becomes poison when touched by a serpent's tooth. How came you by the Lord's prayers?"

"I was schooled in them from infancy," replied the priestess. "Know you the convent of Our Lady By the Sea_? _That was my first home. I have studied your religion, Father, but your zealotry forbids you from knowledge of mine."

"My daughter," said Father Marcas passionately, "zealotry comes in many forms. And you have gravely erred in your judgement. For were you an ignorant pagan, raised without knowledge of the True Faith, God would not have held you responsible for your condition. But as you were brought up to study of the scriptures, to turn your back on them in favour of sorcery was an act of deliberate blasphemy. This has certainly condemned you. Repent, before it is too late!"

"I have done nothing that I should repent," said Morgana. "It is the people of the Old Religion who have suffered at the hands of your followers. It is your priesthood who should beg for mercy."

"I will not do so," said Father Marcas. "Not from a servant of the Enemy of Mankind."

"The Goddess is not your enemy," said Morgana. "You believe the world to be the work of your Creator, and yet you refuse to read the Book of Nature, for the signs of the Lady are everywhere. Her three forms are reflected in all things. Even St Padraig witnessed this, when he plucked the three-leaved shamrock and beheld Her three faces, but he denied Her, and could only proclaim the Trinity of your Nazarin God. For there are none so blind as those who will not see."

"We see very well," returned Father Marcas, "with the scales of delusion fallen from our eyes. Your Triple Lady is a false Trinity. She is none other than the three fallen angels, Lucifer, Beelzebub and Moloch, masquerading as an unholy triplet to mock God's Triune nature, and cause the destruction of His children's souls."

"_Enough!" _said Morgana. "Diana is indeed called _Lucifera, _for she is a bearer of light. As the Moon she illuminates the night sky, for the benefit of Man, and as the font of Wisdom, she illuminates the darkness of man's mind, bringing him _gnosis. _But you pervert her title and call her Lucifer, a prince of demons, for it pleases you to misunderstand. Words will not solve our differences, Father, and I will not debate while the Vykings draw near. Let others bear witness to the power of the Goddess by Her actions."

In the meantime, the ships of the raiders had come alarmingly near, so close that the watchers could make out the individual warriors massing on the decks, see their iron helmets and mail armour, hear the sound of their grim war-drums beating across the water like a passing-knell for the imminently dead.

The knights on the shore had grown increasingly nervous, their hands straying to their hilts. Waiting for a command from either of the kings present, they had been stayed from forming up by the imprecations of Father Marcas, but it was clear they must make a choice soon: to make a stand on the shore or flee to the defence of their walled cities. King Lot himself seemed paralysed by indecision, torn between the warnings of his priest, and the urgings of his brother King Urien to stay and trust the sorceress.

"_Pax vobiscum," _said Morgana to the nobles, before turning and going to the sacrificial beast. She took the golden halter from the pages, and whispered something into the ear of the milk-white bull, which forgot its massive bulk and suddenly became docile as a lamb. Then the priestess led the creature to the very edge of the promontory, so that they stood right above the ocean. Down below, waves rushed to dash themselves against the jagged rocks which stuck out of the surging white foam.

"Great Queen!" called Morgana. "You have withdrawn your protection from this land! The people have forgotten you! They have cut down your sacred groves, despoiled your sanctuaries, and allowed your sacred fires to go cold! They have not observed your rites, nor do they mark the changing of Earth's seasons! They have slaughtered your followers and driven your priestesses into exile! But today I, a High Priestess, speak for the Old Ways, and I invite you back, O Three-Formed Goddess!

"These outlanders would slaughter our people, and offer our blood as a sacrifice to their war-gods. But I turn their sacrifice back upon them, and offer _their _lives to you, Queen of Land, Sky and Sea! Now let our covenant be sanctified with the blood of the innocent! Take back the soul of this innocent beast, this child of your womb, and let it fly to your breast!"

The priestess spoke some words in a harsh, alien tongue, and the sea-breeze picked up, whispering to the gathered knights and nobles as if in reply. Then Morgana brought the gold knife around, and drew it across the animal's throat in one smooth motion. With superhuman strength, she pushed the creature over the crest, and it fell, streamers of red blood gushing from its neck, and was lost in the waves below.

"Lord have mercy," breathed Father Marcas, making the sign of the cross.

The wind began to howl, beating against their backs so strongly that people stumbled and horses whinnied in alarm. The sky darkened, black clouds appearing from nowhere and skidding across the heavens with such velocity it was as though a veil was drawn across the sun. Sheets of lightning flashed, and thunderclaps broke out in a rhythmic pattern, overpowering the drumming of the Vykings.

The sea, now as black as the sky, swelled unnaturally, the surface undulating as though the coils of a gigantic serpent flexed beneath it, tossing the longships as if they were pleasure-boats.

The Vykings, consummate sailors, had been taken aback by the storm's sudden appearance, but they reacted swiftly. Their ships had been the first vessels designed to switch between sail and oar at speed, and now, seeing that the wind had become their enemy, they raced across the decks to pull down the large squares of cloth. It was too late for some of them, however. As the onlookers looked on in shock, gales skidded across the surface of the sea and snapped the masts of the longboats, as if the hardened ashwood was no more than twig. Forks of lightning stabbed down with eerie precision, setting pitch aflame, and sending men screaming and scurrying for cover.

The Lady Morgana now lifted a hand, and directed it against the oncoming fleet, as if incensing her Goddess to still greater fury. If anyone had doubts about the action of a supernatural hand in the phenomenon, they were now silenced. For at the priestess' gesture, the wind folded around her enemies like a vice and the sea itself rose up to destroy them. Waves as big as mountains formed, larger than any had seen in living memory, demolishing entire ships. Trapped between sea and sky, the wind grinding down on them like a press, and the waves opening to swallow them, the longboats were shattered into oblivion.

Some on the shore, witnessing the devastation through the wind battering their faces, even felt pity for the raiders. The sailors ran across the decks, called upon their Thunderer for aid, even flung themselves overboard in desperation, but all to no avail.

The storm was ended as quickly as it had begun. A gap opened in the heavens, and a shaft of sunlight poured down, illuminating the High Priestess as if in a sign of approval from her Mistress.

Not one longboat of a fleet of forty had survived. All that remained were scattered bits of wooden debris floating in the ocean, and the pale outlines of bloated corpses, which would wash up on shore for days. It was a victory so complete, so relentless, that not even in the days of Alfred the Great or William of Normandy, had a king of Brython's royal navy managed to so annihilate a fleet of invading Vykings.

In the awful silence that followed, King Urien of Gore went to the High Priestess, removed his crown, and went down on one knee.

"Lady," he said, "you are everything you had promised us, and more. Such power as you possess is beyond even the grasp of emperors. I pledge to follow you, that your blessing may magnify my kingdom. Lady, say the word, and you shall be queen of Gore itself, and sit at my right hand on a throne of silver. I offer you myself and my kingdom, a royal dower as rich as any lord's in this land."

Morgana turned, a curiously cold look in her eyes as she regarded the king, as though heedless of how great an honour he paid her.

"I have no need of your kingdom, King Urien," she said at last. "Nor of your throne, nor your inheritance. For I have one of my own. What I lack is support in the great war to come. What I lack is the loyalty of this island's rulers. What I require is the means to achieve my victory and defend my rightful claims. Will you support me in this?"

"Lady, only say the word, and you shall have whatever your heart desires."

Morgana looked around, taking in the awestruck nobles, King Lot, his knights, and the trembling Father Marcas.

"What I _desire _is my right. _Déesse et mon droit! _I want the throne of Camelot."

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks for the kind comments on the last chapter, everyone! It's much appreciated.

After I finished my first watch of Merlin, I was so intrigued and emotionally involved in the characters and story, but also frustrated by what I felt was inconsistent character development. So when I started this story, I almost started with a blank slate, and sort of just shoved the characters into this world to see how it would form around them.

However, I've slowly started going over the episodes again, and trying to pull out threads of the characters that I really enjoyed. I hope I can weave a bit more of their original personality into this story, though obviously there will be significant changes and inconsistencies, because this world is different.

I did enjoy putting a bit of Detective Gwen into the last chapter. When I watched the first two seasons I was also struck by how much of a moral compass she is in the show. She is really quite lippy for a serving girl, and fortunately Arthur takes it well. It would have been interesting to see how real political power could have combined with her strong moral convictions and her willingness to challenge others - an extremely opinionated queen who wants to change the world would have been a lot more threatening to the social order than a sassy serving girl, but sadly we didn't really get to see that.

I didn't get to put much of Morgana's character in this chapter. I actually was planning to write a much longer chapter, beginning with her childhood in the convent, but I couldn't really justify it because she's not a main character in this story. Even this chapter is a diversion. I don't know if Morgana will show up again. I just had to put her here because the preceding chapter was about Gwen, and the next chapters will be about Arthur and Merlin's childhoods, and I just felt that some reference to her as part of the original young four belonged here.

* * *

**Guest:** thank you very much for your kind words. I won't get into my whole biography here, but I will say that I'm not religious and have a complicated relationship with organised religion. However, religion has played an important role in my family's history. My extremely religious grandparents came from a small Hindu community, whose identity was defined by resisting Muslim and Christian attempts to convert them.

However, despite this, I was encouraged to learn about and respect all faiths, and my parents sent me to a Catholic school for a couple of years. I have been drawn to many different religious cultures, and Catholicism has a special place in my heart. Something about the architecture, music, artwork, prayers and devotions just overcomes me with a sense of beauty and transcendence. I find the Catholic liturgy soothing, and I often listen to chants like _Salve Regina _because they give me a sense of peace.

I love mediaeval and Victorian settings, and I think it's hard to write a story like this without respecting the enormous influence Christianity, and the Roman Church in particular, have had, whether positive or negative, on every aspect of people's lives. (Of course BBC Merlin managed this - they mentioned the Old Religion while avoiding any reference to the New Religion, so it can be done. And I respect their reasons for doing it, because the show was about fantasy, not about paganism vs. Christianity. But I think referencing the historical context can bring a sense of richness, and I hope my respect for and genuine interest in the source material comes through when I write).

I think offering to pray for a stranger, especially one whom you only know through fanfiction, is such a generous gesture. I do genuinely appreciate the intention and am actually touched and humbled by it, especially because I know how special the act is to believers. Thank you!


	21. A House Divided

The High Priestess was exactly where Mordred knew she would be. She had been drawn deep into the forest, towards one of the oldest stands of oaks she could find. Even here, the Nazarins had not managed to uproot every grove sacred to the Goddess, for they only recognised the outward signs of the Druid religion. The more subtle shrines and sacred places eluded them. The New Religion taught that Paradise was located in the Heavens, and so its followers had forgotten to read the marks of power in the Earth.

The Lady Morgana knelt at the base of an oak, her pale face turned upward as if imploring a vision from her Mistress. There was no peace on that lifted countenance.

Mordred had heard whispers from the followers of the Old Religion. They said that Morgana had changed during her two years in captivity, that Sarrum had taken more from her than her freedom. They said she no longer heard the voice of the Goddess, and that the severing of her connection to the Old Religion had left a void in her heart, which was now filled with hatred and despair.

Mordred did not doubt it. He knew little of the Mysteries of the Blessed Isle, for such knowledge was jealously guarded. There were childhood tales he had heard among the Druids, however. Girls destined to be made priestesses were chosen very young, for the witches of Avalon had the Sight, and could prophesy which infants would carry the Gift at birth. In girlhood, the mind was still flexible, so that if a novice was made a vessel, her spirit could expand to hold the sacred mysteries, knowledge no mortal was meant to bear. Beyond a certain age, however, the mind and personality became too fixed and rigid. Pouring the living essence of a Goddess into an already formed woman was likely to cause the mind to crack at the seams, or shatter outright.

The results of such a reckless initiation were right before him.

He did not know why Morgana had been made a High Priestess. Perhaps Morgause had been stung into action by the death of Nimueh, and her own mortal injuries at the hands of Emrys. Perhaps she was eager to have a sorceress with Pendragon blood bound to the service of the Blessed Isle. She must have known that it was risky to complete Morgana's training in a mere couple of years, when it should have lasted for her entire girlhood.

She must have known that Morgana had been trained to be a Sister of the Nazarin faith, and schooled as a lady at a court where magic was forbidden. She must have known that Morgana's mind was filled with competing faiths and conflicted loyalties, and bursting with the turmoil and frenzied power of adolescence. And yet, into that volatile mix, Morgause had poured the most ancient and powerful magics known to the Old Religion, and then died, leaving her sister with no practitioner of the Old Mysteries to counsel and stabilise her.

Perhaps this, too, was the will of the Goddess, for She seemed to have a sense of humour as black as the Nazarin God's, and to care as little for the suffering of Her followers.

Morgana spoke without opening her eyes. "You dare intrude on the prayers of a High Priestess?"

Mordred bowed his head. "Lady, worship among our people should be communal. No tree stands alone in the forest. We should approach our Mother as one family, brothers and sisters united in praise, welcoming her even as we recognise her forms in each other. It must be the echoes of the training of the spinster-nuns that bids you hide yourself in solitude, cutting yourself off from others."

"And now you presume to teach _me _the forms of prayer? I, who am the last daughter of the Blessed Isle? Restrain your tongue, or I shall do it for you. I worship alone out of necessity, for I am the last of my kind."

"Morgana, you are not alone. I am still here."

"You are nothing. A Druid whelp. What do you know of the True Mysteries? Your people taught you the arts of herbcraft, healing and forestry. You play nursemaid to injured deer, make leaves into salves, speak to starlings, and put yourself in _my _company? Insolent."

At last Morgana rose, and turned to face Mordred.

"I see you have been busy."

"As have you, Morgana. I hear you reduced an entire fleet of Vyking ships to driftwood. Word is that King Urien of Gore has signed his entire domain away to you. Was this wise? What do you think the kings of Brython will do when they learn a sorceress of such power has arisen? Will they not conspire to control, or destroy, a woman with the might of a dozen armies in her little finger?"

"I fear no king. No mortal man can seize or have power over me."

"Sarrum was a mortal man."

Morgana's face became, if possible, even paler. "You dare speak of this?"

"I _must, _Morgana! I am pledged to your service and I will follow you, but I need to know you cannot be brought low again. The stakes you are gambling with now are far greater than before, and I need to know you act from wisdom, not recklessness. Tell me how you were imprisoned."

Morgana's lip twitched. "I owe you nothing. But graciousness is a sign of favour from the Goddess. So know this. I was captured as a punishment from the Lady. I lost sight of Her goal: to restore sorcery to the heart of Camelot, and Her worship to this island. I failed Her, and so She condemned me to be robbed of my power, and consigned to suffer indignities. A reminder of all that sorcerers have endured at the hands of men like Uther.

"She sent me the white dragon, a mark of my Pendragon lineage, and caused it to be tortured and malformed. It is a sign of how the Pendragon line has perverted the throne, and caused the Lady's people to suffer. Aithusa shall not be whole and healed again - and nor shall I - until the crown of Camelot is placed upon its rightful heir. The Goddess demands that a Pendragon of the old blood, loyal to the Old Ways and the Lady Herself, sits the throne. To which purpose I have demonstrated the Lady's power before the kings of the north.

"Now do you see there was wisdom in my actions? I have emptied myself of pride, affection, restraint, and any other impediment to Her will. Nothing I do may fail now."

"I pray you are correct," said Mordred. "For you now have the attention of kings who make Sarrum look like a country squire-"

"Say that name again," Morgana said. "Speak it a third time, if you dare. See what happens."

Mordred fell silent.

"So there is wisdom in you, too," said Morgana. "But too little, too late. I warned you not to go after Arthur."

"There was war," said Mordred. "Fighting between the Druids and his knights. I already watched him slaughter the Druid clan that raised me. Would you have me sit back and do nothing?"

"_Yes!" _said Morgana. "Do you think you alone have sacrificed family, home, comfort? I _warned _you that you are too precious a weapon to be unsheathed at random! I _warned _you that Arthur is invincible until Emrys is contained. Only you may slay Arthur, but even then, only at precisely the correct time! If you ever dare to ignore my instructions - if you jeopardise our mission again-"

She stopped, her brow furrowed, her piercing blue eyes searching Mordred's face in the gloom, as if seeing him for the first time. When she next spoke, her words were quieter and far more frightening.

"You spoke to him. You let him speak to you."

"I-"

"Goddess help us!" She spun, paced almost to the edge of the grove. "How many times did I warn you? There is a glamour that clings to Arthur. He is no ordinary king. He was born of magic, yet he is no sorcerer, for his gift is far more subtle and perilous than that. How do you think he bound a creature as powerful as Emrys to his will? If you let him corrupt you-"

She turned again, looking at Mordred intently. Mordred dropped his eyes, but as always, he felt stripped naked in front of Morgana, as if she could spy his very thoughts.

"Your heart is already softening towards him," she said, as if reading from an open scroll. "He touched you somehow, in a way you comprehend not. You think him gallant, gentle. You think it a shame so noble a soul should be opposed to the Goddess."

"So what if I do?" said Mordred defiantly.

"He cannot live," Morgana breathed. "A soul loyal to the Goddess must sit on the throne of Camelot."

"I know," said Mordred. And inside, against his will, a voice said, _I am such a soul. Arthur is the perfect knight. Morgana is the greatest enchantress. I alone possess both their gifts: chivalry and sorcery. I have studied magic at Morgana's feet, so why should I not learn knighthood from Arthur? Was this not the ancient way? Would this not be a perfect marriage: the Goddess' sacred magics, and the gallantry of her warriors, combined in one person? _

_Yet Morgana will not teach me all the arts of the High Priestess. She fears that a man should learn her deepest secrets, for then he should have both man's strength of arms and the priestess' gifts. She fears that once I know her darkest charms, she will no longer be of use to me. She fears that I may do what she cannot, and become a knight at her brother's court, and then I should wield the powers of both sword and wand, and be greater than brother and sister combined. _

_But she will yield her arts to me. I am the only kin she has left, and her only hope of the Old Ways' survival, though she will not admit it, perhaps not even to herself._

"I see everything," said Morgana. "I see what you are becoming, Mordred. Wilful, disobedient. At times, you even nurse treachery against me in your heart."

"What you see, Morgana," said Mordred, "is enemies where there are friends. A trait you inherited from your father."

"There can be no friends to those chosen by Fate!" said Morgana. "I see your guilt writhing in you, like worms feasting on a still-breathing corpse. You think me a useful tool. You think to learn my deepest arts from me, and then discard me."

"I cannot account for your delusions," said Mordred. "As for who is using whom, your entire purpose in recruiting me was to turn me into a weapon against Arthur."

"That is not true, Mordred," said Morgana, her whole voice changing, becoming almost soft with tenderness. "I bear you love. Did I not save your life when you were a boy? Was there not a bond between us? You… despite what I said, you are the closest thing to a friend I have. The only one. You are like a son to me."

_Arthur saved my life, too, _thought Mordred. _If I owe you a debt, do I not owe him one too? _But aloud, he said, "I am glad, Morgana. You may think yourself alone, but as I said, we are more alike than you realise, you and I."

"Yes," she said.

"And we may be more alike to Arthur-"

"No. That can never be. Put all kindly thoughts of him out of your head."

Morgana's slow pacing came to a halt, leaving her before the oak tree at which she had prayed. Now she sank slowly to the leaf-carpeted ground and leaned back against the trunk, her black robes fanning about her, forming a pool of darkness.

"So he didn't corrupt you, then," she said quietly, almost to herself. "That's good. You, at least, are still faithful. I couldn't bear to lose you, Mordred." She stretched out her hands to Mordred imploringly, looking almost like a little girl. She was so small when she sat, so unlike the tall, forbidding figure of the High Priestess. "Come to me."

Mordred did not move. "It grows late, my lady. I should leave you to your meditations."

"Come to me," she repeated. "Or was I mistaken? Has Arthur turned you against me after all? Perhaps some time in the Dark Tower-"

At the mention of that place, Mordred began moving involuntarily, fighting to keep the fear out of his face. He went to Morgana's side and knelt, and she pulled him down so that his head was cradled in her lap.

"It is just as Mother Priscilla said," Morgana sighed. "I would not be defiled by the touch of any man, and yet I would know a mother's love for her son. A son I would leave my kingdom and people behind for, one I would suffer everything for. But unlike the Blessed Virgin, I will not bury my son. Oh no, you shall live, and be my disciple, my glory, my Mordred..."

She ran her fingers through Mordred's hair, caressing him like a small child, and he closed his eyes, fighting the urge to shudder at her touch.

* * *

Soft candlelight filled the pavilion of Arthur Pendragon, and glinted off the holy icons mounted in one corner. He had shown his face at every one of Archbishop De Croismere's masses in the past few days, so that he felt he had earned a reprieve for this evening. Even so, as he heard the final hymns sound, he had been drawn by a sudden sense of duty to leave his desk and get down on his knees.

As he dutifully worked his way through the formulae he had been taught, he wondered if others were more affected by prayer than he. It was true that in the grand cathedral, surrounded by all the sights and sounds of the church, he often felt a sense of peace. On the field, however, facing a blank wall of fabric, he found he could not conjure much spiritual fervour with only himself to rely on. Especially not these days, when his mind was always occupied by other thoughts.

What was occupying him now was the question of Merlin.

He had seen the manservant - no, the Royal Herald - skulking around as they had ridden north, staying out of the king's way. Merlin was hurt, Arthur knew, by being given the cold shoulder. And so he should be. Arthur knew he was being unjust, yet part of him wanted Merlin to feel some measure of the hurt Arthur himself felt.

It had taken him days for everything he had learnt to settle in his mind. The truth was, he had Merlin's secret to thank for preserving his life and his kingdom many times over. If anything, Merlin was the injured party, for hadn't he sacrificed much to keep his secret safe and remain by Arthur's side?

And yet, Arthur could not help feeling betrayed.

He had not seen Morgana's magic either. How quickly it had corrupted her, festered within her, turned her into a completely different person under his very eye. Nor had he seen Agravaine's true nature.

Was this his Fate, to be surrounded by people he trusted implicitly, yet knew not at all? Was he an imbecile? Had God made him blind, an idiot king, to be misled by everyone from his royal kin to his most humble servants?

There were times in the past few days when Arthur had stared wild-eyed at the people around him, wondering if the serving-maid who fetched his linens or the page that brought him supper were sorcerers. He would not be surprised, at this point, if someone told him that Gaius was a Sidhe and his late father had been a troll under a glamour. The world no longer made sense.

_I know no one, _thought Arthur. _The one person I thought I knew and trusted best in the world had kept his entire life secret from me, even though he had no life outside being my own servant. Surrounded by people, and yet I know no one. How utterly alone I am. If Socrates was correct, and knowing nothing is the beginning of wisdom, then perhaps Merlin was right, and I am on the way to becoming Brython's wisest king. _

He got up at last, having finished his prayers - there was no answer, as usual - and returned to his seat at his writing desk.

And then, it occurred to him, there was the question of his pride. What were all his victories, all the dangers he had faced, all the obstacles he had overcome in becoming a worthy successor to his father? During all that time his bumbling manservant had been by his side, magically protecting him, striking at his enemies, manipulating events to alter the destiny of the entire kingdom.

What was the point of having a king? Hadn't Merlin been the true protector of Camelot, more than all its knights? Hadn't Merlin put Arthur on the throne, hadn't he almost made Arthur marry Guinevere, choosing Camelot's queen, even at the cost of upending the kingdom's entire social order?

What _if _Archbishop De Croismere - fanatic though he might be - were correct? What if some sorcerers had the power to influence the will of others merely by entering their presence? Would Arthur know if Merlin was using his crafts to dominate him? Could _anyone _\- king, archbishop, peasant - truly know their mind and body were their own around a person whose will altered the destinies of nations?

_I trusted Merlin before I knew what he was, _thought Arthur. _I must trust him now. I have no choice._

No choice. Power such as Merlin had hinted at possessing gave those around him no choice, but to co-exist with it and pray it was benevolent. The only alternative was to do as Uther had done, to try and purge such power from the world completely.

_I cannot become my father. I cannot sacrifice my friend to my own fear and insecurity. But perhaps there are certain powers in the world, certain tyrannies, more complete and irresistible than a king's. Perhaps my father truly believed his way was the lesser of two evils. God help me, I must continue to believe he was wrong._

And then there was the question of justice.

There was a stirring and muffled voices from without. One of Arthur's guards called, "His Excellency Bishop Rhodri craves an audience with you, sire."

"He may enter."

A few moments later, the fabric guarding the entrance parted, and the bishop came in.

"Good evening, sire. I pray I did not disturb you. I did not see you at Mass."

"There are times when I think God hears me more clearly when I am alone. _I _can certainly hear my own thoughts better. Meaning no disrespect."

"Not at all," said Bishop Rhodri. "There is much to be said for prayer done sincerely in private. Some are very eager to be seen praying on street corners, as if keen for their piety to be recognised in public. Forgive my intrusion, but you seem troubled. Is it this talk of the dragon?"

"Perhaps," said Arthur. "Is this a sign that my father was right to slaughter the dragons? Are they a menace to be eradicated from the land, like the other creatures of the Old Religion? I see his hand stretching from beyond the grave, mocking me for doing things differently to him."

"Not all misfortunes are evil in themselves," replied the bishop. "Remember, even Lucifer was created by God for a purpose. If this dragon has wrought destruction in the north, who is to say that makes its race unworthy of life? Lord knows Men have caused enough destruction in this world, more than a thousand dragons."

"Rightly spoken," said the king. "You always find the balance between wisdom and compassion. Sadly I find my own judgement lacking these days."

"You must not doubt yourself so, sire," said Rhodri. "If you'll forgive me, your father was at times over-certain of his own wisdom. It is well not to repeat his mistakes, but straying in the opposite direction and denying your own conscience would also be an error."

"And there's truth in that, too," said the king. "Your Excellency, I have a doubt about justice."

"Then speak your mind, freely and certain of absolute confidence."

"I am the king. I wrote but a tiny fraction of the laws of my kingdom, yet nevertheless the Law I inherited is the Law. I am to enforce it, and I cannot do so with partiality, even when I consider the law unjust.

"Now suppose I had a friend who had knowingly broken a grave law, almost every day of his life. His intentions were good - indeed, in doing so, he saved my own life, and that of many others. But he lied to me, and hid his mortal guilt every day of his life. What… what would you do with such a friend?"

Rhodri took a deep breath, and exhaled very slowly. He went over to a rack and began looking over the king's weapons with great interest.

"This is a difficult problem, my lord," he said eventually. "You may speak plainly. I perceive that you speak of the law prohibiting magic. You fear you have already broken this law, when you allowed the Druidess to tend Merlin. He was, after all, struck by a poison arrow, beyond the power of ordinary mediciners to heal.

"We have both come to believe that the ban on sorcery was unjust. Indeed, that is why you employed me in your project to undo those laws. Do we not agree that magic can be used for good purposes as well as evil?"

"Indeed we do," said Arthur. "But the law has not been repealed yet. Intentions are not sufficient. We are talking of uses of magic that began many years ago, when my father was still king. Can the law be retroactively applied?"

"When your father was king, he used many magics, even the kind employed to conceive you. I am informed that after the Purge, he turned to magic to heal Morgana of a mortal injury."

"I am trying to avoid repeating my father's hypocrisies. Would you have me happily murder sorcerers who are strangers, but renege when they are my friends, or useful to me?"

"Certainly not, sire. I thought your courts were now dropping those cases."

"Yes, but the process is not complete, and these offences began years ago. Do you know how many men my father and I burned, how many people we slaughtered?"

Rhodri turned and looked at Arthur. "Sire, will executing your friend bring back all the innocent who burned?"

Arthur hung his head. "No."

"And now I ask not about the law, but about your own conscience. Would punishing this friend seem _right _to you? Would it seem fair and just?"

"No. It would not. But what would my people think of a king who makes exceptions to the law to save his own friends?"

"If that clemency was justified, they would think such a king a wise and compassionate sovereign, who would rather spare a good man than condemn him for the sake of his own image. For God's sake, follow your heart, and show mercy. For by the letter of the law, we are all condemned to die. It is only by the mercy of a judge even greater than yourself that we are all spared that eternal punishment."

Arthur stared at the parchments on his desk for a long time. Eventually, he said, "Thank you, Your Excellency. I have been a fool. I doubt myself at my wisest, and trust myself at my most capricious. You have given me good counsel."

Bishop Rhodri bowed his head. "It is an honour to be of service to such a sovereign, sire," he said. "But I have troubled you enough for one evening. I shall take my leave."

After the bishop left, Arthur found his gaze wandering to the golden crucifix suspended from the wall, and wondered if someone had been listening to him after all.


	22. Twice Blest

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,  
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven  
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;  
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes  
The throned monarch better than his crown;  
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,  
The attribute to awe and majesty,  
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;

But mercy is above this sceptred sway;  
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,  
It is an attribute to God himself;  
And earthly power doth then show likest God's  
When mercy seasons justice.

\- _The Merchant of Venice_

* * *

Merlin stood atop a rise on the outskirts of the encampment. Night had drawn her cloak across the sky, and the moon was a slender crescent surrounded by countless stars. The keepers of the Old Religion would be watching that moon tonight, especially the priestesses, who felt the call of the lunar rays in their very veins. What was it like for women, to have their own blood swell and ebb each month like the ocean's waves? Did it make them more attuned to the Old Faith? Was that why so many of them had the gift of sorcery? Merlin would probably never learn the answers to such secrets. The only High Priestesses he'd encountered had wanted him dead.

A night breeze stirred the grasses, carrying the scents of wild herbs and night-blooming flowers, along with the sound of a heavy tread. Merlin looked round and, to his surprise, saw the blonde hair and crimson tunic of the king illuminated by a lantern, climbing towards him up the rise. He made to sidle away, but Arthur called out.

"Stay!"

Merlin tried to keep the sullenness out of his face as the king reached him.

"It's damn dark out here," Arthur said. "Why didn't you bring a light?"

Merlin looked at the white blade of the moon, and the constellations floating around her like swarms of silver fireflies.

"Some things are only revealed in darkness," he replied.

"Very profound," grunted the king. "You could still hurt yourself. We all know how clumsy you are."

"I'm less so in the dark. When your eyes are closed, you have to really feel what's around you. You almost become part of the land. It's like when I was a boy in the woods back in Ealdor. I think seeing is what distracts me."

"Really? You don't show any awareness of your surroundings on hunting trips. Just don't tell people you can see better at night. They already think you're uncanny."

The reference to creatures of the night, werewolves and vampires and, well, _sorcerers, _hung in the air between them like a pall.

"I owe you an apology," the king said.

"An apology?" Merlin's voice had its usual flippancy, but there was a slight tremor in it. "So you've decided what to do with me, then? What's it to be?"

"I... have been thinking about you a great deal, Merlin. And the state of law in Camelot. And the duties of kingship. A king is supposed to be both just and merciful, and these two demands often seem in conflict with each other. On that subject, I have been speaking with Bishop Rhodri."

"That's comforting."

"I thought you liked him."

"Because he's one of the few churchmen whose fingers don't reach for the torch and firewood when he looks at me."

"Indeed. I like him for that reason also. The bishop actually reminded me of a story. The one about the woman taken in adultery."

"What is the fascination with adultery for you kings? A poor man would be grateful for even one wife."

"Just listen, Merlin. I know you haven't been to church school in a long while. Once, they brought a guilty woman unto the Saviour and asked him to stone her to death, in accordance with the law. The Lord then asked if anyone among the assembly was without sin, and for such a person to cast the first stone. And the accusers were all ashamed, for there was not one of them guiltless, and they departed from that place."

"A truly touching story, sire," said Merlin. "But at the risk of sounding churlish, there is the Scripture, and then there is judicial authority. I am not sure the two are compatible with each other. You are a king, not a priest. Unless the moral of this tale is that no crimes will be punished in your kingdom henceforth? Since no judge is without sin, will bandits ravage with impunity, and oathbreakers walk free, until you find a spotless man to imprison them?"

"Why are you always so cynical, Merlin? Surely you don't _want _to burn."

"Of course I don't. Nor did the countless others who went to the stake. So I'm glad that you and my friend Rhodri put your heads together and found the chapter and verse that would save me, sire. It were a shame the same fairy tale could not be found in time for so many others - children, even-" Merlin stopped and found his throat tight with emotion.

"Merlin… I understand your grief. I'm only beginning to understand now, because I see what it's cost you to serve Camelot. If I could give my life a hundred times over to bring back every innocent my father and I killed, I would do it in an instant. Do you doubt that?"

"I… no."

"But I can't. So let me start with what I can do, and ensure your safety. And it's not because the bishop gave me a way out."

Arthur looked out over the rise. The shade of night had smoothed the cares and creases from his face, yet he appeared older than Merlin remembered.

_We are all showing the marks of our burdens, _Merlin thought. _I wonder how my own face looks now. Youth has flown away without us noticing it. _

"I was afraid," said Arthur, "of being a capricious king like my father, of choosing how and when to enforce the law. He was a man of honour and duty. He taught me that the codes we lived by were absolute. And yet, in his later years, his inconstancy tainted everything, even how he dispensed justice.

"So I forgot the other important lesson I'd learnt under my father, which was that sometimes a distance grows between what is legal and what is right. I saw that many, many times throughout my youth. And later, when I forgot, it was you who reminded me. You have always counselled me to show mercy, perhaps even to those who did not merit it.

"When I learnt my father had murdered my mother with sorcery, I would have killed him in cold blood. But you stayed my hand, even against this man who had slain so many of your kind, a man you had so much cause to hate. When Lancelot first came to court, you pleaded for him when he broke the Knight's Code. You spoke up for Gawaine when he crossed swords with those impostor knights, a capital offence. You warned me against killing Caerleon, and it was because of you that I spared Queen Annis' champion. You risked your own life to save the Druid boy... even to save Morgana! The number of times she committed treason, or attempted my life... The number of times you could have ended her, and yet, for better or worse, it is because of your compassion that I still have one living kinswoman…

"Even this dragon that vexes us now only lives because you did not want its kind to vanish from the Earth… How many souls have been spared because of your willingness to withhold judgement?"

Arthur looked at Merlin. "I would have been a monster to execute you. I'm ashamed I felt a duty to consider the question, however technical a point. Long before I knew of your magic, I had seen you plead for the lives of others countless times. Your entire life has been spent counselling me to mercy, would that I had eyes to see it earlier. And that is just one of the many reasons I owe you an apology, Merlin. I'm sorry."

"Think nothing of it, sire."

There was another silence between them, but more peaceful. Dull noises from the camp drifted over the rise, and leaves rustled, but otherwise all was tranquil. The night sky was so vast, it seemed to swallow them up, making all the strife that had taken place around and between them insignificant.

"We are less than a day's ride from Lancaster," said Arthur. "I have been watching the skies. No sign of wyrms. No travellers bearing tales of destruction. That's promising, at least. Did you... hear anything?"

"Not out loud, and not clearly. But the dragons are here, and not far from us. In my sleep, I caught murmurs of their language. One voice I knew, which was definitely the Great Dragon of Camelot. The second voice… this is only the second dragon whose speech I have truly heard. And yet, its quality was vastly different from anything I knew. 'Twas something I cannot describe. It is unlike any dragon I have encountered, and that may be why my power no longer binds them. I tried speaking the Dragontongue again, a couple of days ago. There was no reply, but they surely know I'm here now. I won't risk using that skill again. Iif they mean evil, they will follow my voice straight to your men."

"A wise choice. But if your gift will not work on them, we may have to face them in open combat. If these other champions, and Dane dragonslayers have not succeeded, I wonder how we should proceed."

"Sire… I fear the worst. The Great Dragon would have slaughtered you outside the gates of Camelot, but for my being a Dragonlord. I fear that your armies, for all their valour, will be less effective now."

"My father managed to slay dragons."

"I believe he had more than one enchanted blade, and other gifts given to him by his magical advisors."

"We shall have to make do with what we've got. You will need to get me close enough to the dragons that I can strike them."

"Dragons are ancient and powerful beings. Apart from the Dragontongue, I've learnt no magics to oppose them."

"Then you had better have all your wits about you. Think laterally, Merlin. You've spent enough time in actual combat, and watching training exercises, to do that by now. When you're facing overwhelming force, use the environment against your foe. Find a tactical advantage. Dragons aren't immortal. My father and his knights killed them, perhaps with magical weapons, but… you _are _a magical weapon. Drop rocks on them. Chain them to the ground. If you can't enchant them, enchant me. Make my armour fireproof. I just need an opening and I'll stick them in the eye with this blade."

"Are you asking me to… use magic openly? At your side?"

"Well, that will pose a problem. Perhaps that Dragoon disguise you're so fond of? Battle magic, Merlin. You and I, on the field of combat together. It's the way of the future. Got to adapt the techniques of your enemy to stand a chance of surviving them. My father understood that - if we'd never learnt to forge layered steel like the Saxons, or build castles and train knights like the Normans, they'd have wiped us out by now. If the dragons and Morgana have magic, well, I have you."

Merlin's chest was swelling with a strange emotion. Perhaps pride? It was unusual for something coming out of Arthur's mouth to make him feel this way.

"Something about this feels wrong, though. Using that blade, which Kilgarrah burnished for you, to kill him… he told me this weapon had the potential to accomplish great evil. I can't believe he truly means you ill. My voice may not be binding these dragons, but I think it will give me some sway in communicating with them. Please… let me at least try and speak to them before you take the field."

"Well, you won't have much opportunity. Perhaps if you leave before we reach the court and rejoin us later. I can't buy you much time, Merlin. And if you do this, you'll have to do it alone, and you will be in great danger."

"Aye, sire. The dragon lives because of me. The deaths it's caused are my fault as well. I will risk this, and I will bear the consequences."

Arthur patted him on the shoulder.

"But otherwise, you must be discreet. I have control over my own courts, but I can't protect you from the Church or my earls, much less the Normans or Saxons. This Earl of Lancaster, Gallien, is of House Beaumont. His Norman forefathers commanded a flank at Hastings, where William vanquished the Saxons. His family was given the North to keep the Anglish down and defend the realm from Danes and Scots. They're hard men, and they already believe we're to blame for this dragon escaping. If they discover you're a sorcerer who speaks to dragons… "

"I understand."

"But after this quest, Merlin, we will need to talk of the limits of your magic some more. My thoughts about the law did not stop at my own actions."

"What do you mean?"

"I said you've been extraordinarily merciful, Merlin, and that's true. But there have been times when you have not stayed your hand. You have slain many people."

"In self-defence. No more than your knights."

"That's true. But knights can't rob a king of his own will. Nor can they enslave dragons, slaughter Sidhe, command the whirlwind, or fell a platoon of men without lifting a finger. The threat of a sorcerer of your calibre is exponentially greater than that of a whole company of my ablest warriors. Knights, in theory, are accountable to the Knight's Code. When you slew Agravaine, for example… an evil man, but noble of birth, and kin to your own liege… did you never attempt to capture him? You slew all the men who were with him. You were alone, and able to use your magic freely."

"How could I spare him? He would have revealed my secret. And then you would have killed me."

"Then did you slay him to protect your secret, or to keep Camelot safe?"

"I wouldn't have revealed my magic to him unless… unless I had already made the choice to kill him."

Arthur looked at Merlin intently. "So it was a premeditated execution. A sentence passed entirely by one man, appealing to no law but his own conscience. A massacre with no witnesses. Not even I may do such a thing without some pretext. I want to know, Merlin, what goes through your mind before you slay someone like Agravaine."

"Nothing but keeping you safe! I use my magic only for you, Arthur. I wasn't born a knight! I'm not a trained killer. I become a murderer to protect you and your kingdom."

Pain clouded Arthur's face.

"Devotion to one person, however noble, is no guarantee of just action," he said. "Remember, it was to avenge my mother that my father began the Purge."

Merlin's anger flared suddenly. "Are you comparing me to Uther? I'm sorry I couldn't develop a coherent legal philosophy between scrubbing your chambers and eliminating the threats to your life, all while trying to avoid being killed myself! Maybe if you hadn't wiped out so many of the Druids and High Priestesses, there would have been magical elders and law-givers to instruct me in a Code of Sorcery!"

"You're right, Merlin. My father and I created this problem. Magic raged out of bounds, and in seeking to destroy it, we destroyed the very structures that could have contained it, made it a force for good.

"Mankind learned through centuries of bitter bloodshed that warriors were dangerous. And yet, men-at-arms would always be needed to defend the weak and enforce the laws of kings. That's why the Code of Chivalry was introduced. The distance between a soldier and a savage is as thin as a knife's edge. Without proper training, authority and discipline, an army can become a horde of barbarians. In the Code, combat is ritualised. There are rules we must follow, means to settle disputes while minimising bloodshed. There are oaths to defend the weak, to conduct ourselves with honour, and to not abuse the immense power that warriors have over the unarmed. Whether we live up to these oaths is another matter. And above it all should be the law, interpreted by the sages and men of wisdom, tempering force with justice.

"When magic is reintroduced to Camelot, there will have to be a similar charter. A Code of Sorcery. I know the Druid Order and the priests of the Old Religion have suffered, but there may still be old keepers of lore among them, scholars and sages. I already have Bishop Rhodri and Gaius working with me. And I want you, Merlin, to help me draft this Code, and oversee the use of magic in my kingdom."

Merlin blinked. "Didn't you just question my judgement, sire?"

"I asked because I had to. It's the duty of a king to agonise over his judgements, and your power already exceeds a monarch's. But what you've already done, alone and unaided... the choices you've had to make with no training, no experience to guide you… I can't think of anyone I trust more than you, Merlin, or whom I owe more to.

"Just promise me this. That you will find a purpose again, outside of protecting me. I am grateful for your devotion, but I saw what my mother's loss did to my father. It is no good to thing to live solely for another. When you first came to Camelot, you wanted sorcerers to be free, didn't you? You didn't even know me, or like me, then. Well, soon you will have your wish. Make guiding your people your purpose again. You can serve me that way."

"If that's your wish, Arthur."

"I want it to be _your _wish, Merlin."

"As you say."

Arthur sighed, then patted Merlin on the shoulder again. "Come on. We have much ahead of us tomorrow, at Lancaster. This may be the last night I see you, if you ride in search of the dragons. Come to my tent for some spiced wine. You're better company than Niel."

"A troll's better company than Niel."

Arthur began to descend the grassy rise, the lantern lifted before him to light their path. At first Merlin walked behind the king, as was proper, but then Arthur stopped and gestured with his head.

The two travelled side by side back to camp, the flame between them gleaming off golden hair and dark, like the sun and its shadow.

* * *

The principal knights of Camelot were gathered around a campfire, along with a couple of squires and a few Norman pages. It was a clear night, though dark, and the knights all had bruises from their training exercises. The king had set a hard pace, and he had not stinted their combat practice despite long hours in the saddle. To cap it all, they had been forced to attend yet another bloody mass instead of being given time to rest. None had complained, however, as neither the Cambric nor the Norman knights had wanted to appear weak before outlanders.

"Is there any bread left?" asked Gawaine, who'd found a log to sit on.

"No," said Percival glumly.

"If you're feeling bad for yourself, think of our Norman friends," said Elyan, looking over at a young bard. "You must be used to much finer fare, eh?"

The youth, who was slender and soft-looking, had been adjusting his lute strings, but he started at being addressed by Elyan. "Not so, _Monsieur le Chevalier. _In fact, I was at school in a chapel before joining the bards. And we have simple fare when we march, even His Royal Highness, though he keeps a fine table at court."

"That's a shame," said Elyan. "I thought you Frankishmen all slept on satin and dined on pheasant all day."

The bard smiled. "_Hélas, non. _Besides which, I am not exactly Frankish or Norman. My father was a Breton and my mother a Saxon. I suppose we are all Frankish to you, but among us these distinctions have significance yet."

"I thought the Normans wiped out most of the Saxons," said Percival.

"This is not so," said the bard. "Only the Saxon nobility. After all, one needs peasants to till the soil, and one cannot rule an empty island. Most people in Angland are Saxon still, though the nobles are now from over the sea."

"So," said Elyan, "your father's people conquered your mother's. Does that disturb you?"

The bard shrugged, then grimaced in pain. "This is the way of the world. Are we not all descended from mixed peoples? Is anyone among us of pure stock? I am, after all, a human first. Though it does pain me to see how some of the Franks despise the Saxons, and use them terribly. There will come a time when all the peoples of this land greet each other as brothers and sisters."

"Spoken like a true bard," said Elyan, "raised on myths and legends." He rose, and went to the younger man's side. "What's your name?"

"Bleys, if it please you, _monsieur._"

"Bleys, you're injured. How did that happen? Too much playing on your instrument?"

Gawaine snorted but Elyan silenced him with a look.

"No, _monsieur. _Uh… the truth is, I did not expect to ride north on this mission. I was on my way to the bards' college of Camelot, when I heard the king had left on a quest, and that his own manservant had been made a bard. I thought this would be the opportunity of a lifetime - to record the deeds of heroism in the war between the Cambric and the Normans. And when I heard a great war with two dragons would take place, I knew Fate had placed me here for a reason, and so I followed."

"That doesn't explain how you hurt yourself."

"I didn't want to be useless. I thought I should practise with a sword and shield today, which I had never done before. They are heavier than they look. I thought the pain would go away… "

"Being useless never stopped the King's Herald tagging along," said Niel, from by the fire, where he was sharpening blades.

Elyan looked at him, too. "Niel, I know you think you're a big man, being the king's squire, but if you insult Merlin again in my presence, it won't go well with you, king or no."

Niel's face crumpled as though Elyan had smacked him.

Elyan pulled up Bleys' sleeves, and saw dark bruises and angry red patches mottling the youth's arms. He sighed.

"Bleys! A sword is not a lump of metal, and a shield isn't just a bit of wood. They're valuable, delicate instruments. A blade from our armoury is worth a lord's ransom. You wouldn't want some knight banging away on your lute if he didn't know what he was doing with it, would you? You'd start him on some old piece of crap, and he'd slowly work his way up. You have to earn the right to bear arms."

"I'm sorry, _monsieur. _I thought everyone should know how to fight."

"Yes, in the same way everyone should know how to sing. _You _can fight with your fists, a knife, or a spear, the way Gawaine can bellow the Ballad of Sally O'Shea. You're both amateurs. But if you'd heard Gawaine 'sing,' you wouldn't let him near your lute, and I wouldn't let you near one of my blades until you'd been blooded. You may think warriors are just brutes, but there's artistry to combat, as much as with the bard's craft."

"_Pardon. _I shall know better next time."

"I think you've proven your mettle. Not many singers of poetry are willing to pick up a blade and experience what their heroes did. And you took a beating without backing down. You can leave the fighting to the men-at-arms, from now on. You _are _of use, and men who can spin tales are rarer than men who can cut up their fellows. We can only attack or defend the body, but your words can heal the spirit, or break the enemy's morale, and songs last forever. Treasure your gift."

Suddenly, a woman appeared in the circle of light cast by the fire. A stillness came over the men as they recognised her.

"Finna," said Gawaine. "What brings you here?"

The Druidess cast her eyes around. "It were better that all leave but the knights, and this bard."

There was a brief silence, and then Elyan jerked his head, and Niel and the pages quickly disappeared. They did not need another reason to flee the witch.

Finna moved closer to the fire, as though drawn to it. "I have seen things that unnerved me, felt the stirrings of power. I fear these dragons, and what their coming portends. The stars tell me the king and his Herald are in graver danger than they know, and you must do everything in your power to protect them."

"What kind of danger?" Leon asked, his voice quavering.

"I have seen the gateway of death open for each of them, and each of them pass through… I have seen them standing in the midst of all-consuming fire… " She shook her head. "This much have I seen, and no further."

Swiftly, the Druidess turned and went to Bleys. "You are a bard," she said. "There were bards among us, in the old days. It is good that the art survives, outside the Druids, long after our songs were stolen from us. There is power in words, even in the mouth of one who is no sorcerer. You are here to record the deeds of the king and his Herald? This is well. Only words survive, in the end. Only stories will be remembered, when all of us are dust… Do you fear magic?"

Wordless, staring at the Druidess, Bleys shook his head.

Finna muttered something in the Old Tongue, and passed her lined hands up and down the bard's body. "Sleep well tonight, young one, and be healed when you wake. Remember how I restored your body, and when the time comes, use your tongue to restore fame and glory to the king and his Herald, when their enemies gather to slander them."

Trembling, Bleys nodded.

Next, Finna shifted her gaze to Elyan. "The sword at your belt is unlike most others in this camp. Many blades here came from your forge, but yours was shaped by even greater craftsmanship than its brothers. The smith who made this put something of his soul into it. Only the king's sword rivals yours in its make."

Elyan blinked in surprise. "I did not know smithing was among your talents, lady," he said.

"We have lost that knowledge, for we spurn the arts of war, but your talent and mine spring from a common source. Uther extinguished the forges lit from the sacred flames, but he left just one burning. For he knew he needed magic to fight magic, and the forges were too useful to him to give up completely. Blades capable of slaying dragons… chains to hold a dragon prisoner… steel to drive away the Elfkind and turn the undead... many evil and violent things were born from your forge, blacksmith. But good may be brought forth from it, in the hands of a good man… "

Finna paused, and looked in Elyan's eyes. "What is this?" she said. "You are no sorcerer, but you are Druid-touched. Were you raised among my people? Did you buy enchantments from us?"

Elyan shook his head. "No, my lady. Only-" He hesitated, his face burning with shame. "We - I - disturbed the shrine of a Druid boy in the woods. He had been slain by the king and his knights in a massacre. He haunted me, inhabited my body, and forced me to attack the king. But in the end, he relented, and left me." He shivered. "Lady, have I angered you? Will you punish me?"

Finna's face gave nothing away as she studied the knight. Then she said, "Punish you? I owe you thanks."

"Thanks?"

"That boy's shade had been trapped in a killing-field for years, unable to pass on to the other world. You took him to Arthur, and forced the king to face his own guilt. It is because of you that my kinsman's spirit was given peace. However… even though he has left you, a trace of his presence remains. For we cannot truly be touched by another soul without being changed. Magic always leaves its mark. And perhaps you, Elyan Fairforge, keeper of a smithy burning with an elder flame, are Druid-marked for a reason. Think you that you were drawn to that shrine by pure chance? I see the Lady's hand in many things… "

Finna threw a small pinch of herbs over the fire, and the smoke turned strange and heavy, filling the clearing with a sweet smell. She went to the edge of the circle of firelight. In the thickening vapour, the shimmering flames cast an eerie glow over her robed figure, making her seem strange and terrible. "Remember my words. You each have a part to play in keeping the king and his Herald safe. Terrible trials await us. It is the men I fear more than dragons… men who would prevent me from practicing my crafts openly. But I will be at your side when you most have need of me. I will assist when I can. Trust in each other, and in whatever gods you keep.

"Now breathe in the smoke deeply, for it is a gift from the woodland gods. May you have sweet, dreamless sleep, and waken full of vigour… "

She disappeared into the woods like an apparition.


	23. Lords Among Dragons

As it turned out, the king and his companions did not have to travel all the way to Earl Gallien's court; it came to them instead. For as they rode through the woods that morning, they heard the distant cacophony of horns echoing through the trees, and soon after, their forward scouts returned, followed by a company of unknown knights.

The lead knight was a tall and imposing man mounted on a great destrier, all caparisoned in cobalt blue. He wore no helm, exposing fine, condescending features, and close-cropped auburn hair. When he saw Prince Edward and Princess Marguerite, he dismounted and went down on one knee, and all his men followed suit.

"_Salut, Vos Altesses!" _the knight exclaimed. "_Dieu sauve le Roi, et Dieu vous garde!"_

Prince Edward lifted a hand magnanimously, acknowledging the knight's homage. He responded in the Saxon tongue, rather than the Frankish. "Thou art gracious, Sir Knight. We thank thee for thy welcome. Arise with our benediction. However, as we sojourn in mixed company, let us converse in the common speech, that all may comprehend our parlance."

The auburn-headed knight got to his feet, a look of distaste wrinkling his face. It seemed he was perplexed that Edward, a royal prince with the blood of Rouen and Anjou in his veins, should want to converse in the ugly and barbarous Saxon tongue, rather than the refined Frankish speech of his race, merely for the benefit of Anglish peasants. However, he said, "An it please ye, Your Highness."

"And now," said Prince Edward, "thou art in the presence of a foreign king, one whose friendship we esteem highly. Reverence him, we pray thee, lest the men of Cambria think we Normans deficient in courtesy."

The knight now turned toward Arthur, whose attendants and squires were mounted nearby, displaying the royal insignia and arms of Camelot.

"Your Majesty," said the knight, eyeing the golden dragons and scarlet pennants of Arthur's House with some suspicion, "I bid ye and your retinue welcome, in the name of Earl Gallien of Lancaster."

"Gramercy," said Arthur. "What is thy name, Sir?"

"Sir Valentin D'Arcy, Your Majesty."

"Sir Valentin, we perceive our welcome is not entirely without reservation. Speak out, if aught troubles thee."

The knight hesitated. "If I may speak frankly, sire, your arrival here may cause some consternation. For it is generally believed that the dragons besieging our country were released from Camelot, whether by malice or negligence."

"Thou mayst assure thy lord," said Arthur, "that we knew nothing of this. Upon hearing of this calamity, we swore to rectify any fault on our part, and render every aid to thy people."

"Indeed!" said Prince Edward. "We trust this diviner of Gallien's hath proofs to substance his accusations. We live an age of mad prophets, who go about boldly slandering princes. The King of Camelot will not be slighted in our presence, not before some fault is laid at his feet. And see the truth of his words. He and his earls have come, together with our men, to join your efforts against these beasts."

"My prince," said Sir Valentin, "it may be too late for that. For the more hostile dragon was spotted winging from its lair early this morning, and my lord Gallien has taken the field after it. Many men have fallen to these creatures in the past, and so my lord counselled patience, but his mercenaries, eager for glory, have sallied forth. They seek to meet the beast in this very forest, for the ground here is replete with burial mounds, and much gold was deposited here by the ancient kings. Fearing to have the deaths of these mercenaries on his conscience, Lord Gallien has followed them at a distance with some small company of his knights, along with assorted Saxons, Danes and other heroes. I fear they will be drawn into a conflict they may not escape unscathed."

"What!" said Prince Edward. "Gallien rides to confront the beast in this very place? Well then, lead on! We shall follow thee with all our strength, and we may render the good earl aid yet!"

As Gallien's knights remounted, Princess Marguerite nudged her charger forward, her sharp eyes peering upwards through gaps in the treeline. "I see smoke," she declared. "Men and torches, and not far distant, I'll wager. _Avec moi!_" Her steed broke into a trot, but Sir Valentin barred her way.

"Madame," the knight said, "the field is most perilous. Entire companies of warriors have been turned to ash and bone. Stout and hearty men, battle-hardened veterans all, have flown before this creature in horror. It were better that milady rode behind the knights, for protection."

An expression of fury crossed Marguerite's features, and she drew her hand back as if to strike Sir Valentin. Then, evidently mastering herself, she merely spat at him, "_Loin de moi, scélérat!" _and wrenched on her horse's reins, turning it aside, before spurring it into a gallop and riding away through the trees.

Edward laughed. "You cannot stop the lioness when she is roused, good knight! She will ride where she pleases, and it were best we follow her swiftly, or else she may slay this dragon and leave no sport for the rest of us!"

So saying, he sent his war-horse galloping after his sister's, and his entourage quickly fell in behind him.

The dragon hunt was on.

* * *

Merlin and Finna rode through the green light of the wood, the hoofbeats of their rounceys muffled on the damp earth. Their native Cambria was not a warm place, yet it was cooler here than they were accustomed to, and a fine mist had swirled between the trees that morning, chilling their limbs and speckling the forest with dew. Merlin had aged his appearance before they'd mounted and set off.

"Right," he'd said sourly, as he'd swung himself onto Misty. "Let's get this over with, quick as we can. Horse riding's none too kind on me bones. And the fog's making me joints ache." He launched into a litany of complaints about the weather as they departed.

Finna, watching him with her cool blue eyes, said, "And this is how you see old age, is it, Master Dragoon? Goddess preserve us when your young shoulders have truly felt the burdens of many winters. 'Twill be a sight to behold. Would that I could witness it..."

They moved swiftly, travelling in the same direction as Arthur and his men must be, but keeping well out of the army's path.

_Kilgharrah is nearby, _Merlin thought, as they travelled. _Finna doesn't have the ear for the Dragonspeech as I do, but she knows he is near too. Perhaps she feels his presence even more keenly than I. _

Merlin had never realised it before, but dragons truly were the kings of beasts. With his awareness of the forest heightened by the Druidlore Finna had taught him, he understood that dragons could never be truly silent, even when they muffled their voices. One might as well silence the passage of an earthquake, or a thunderstorm - its effects would still be plain to see.

The whole texture of the forest had changed. Merlin had never been in this province before, and he did not know the usual trails of the wildlife here, or the songs of the birds - but he knew they were disrupted. It was like arriving in a village one had never visited, but still knowing that things were too quiet, that some solemn festival or great calamity was about to take place.

Herds of deer ran through the woods, and occasionally swerved for no reason, as if compelled by some invisible magnetism. Great flocks of starlings winged through the sky, unusually hushed, banking now and then as if the shadow of great wings fell over them. The smaller animals bolted away and hid themselves behind trees or in burrows, their noses quivering.

Everything felt on edge. And each creature moved in but one direction.

_Men flee before the Pendragon kings, as lesser beasts flee before the dragon. _

Merlin couldn't remember who had told him that. For some reason, the words echoed in his father's voice, though he was sure Balinor had not said them.

_A dragons' heart is on its right side, not its left. _Surely Balinor hadn't meant for Merlin to kill the last dragon? But he had foreseen the possibility that it would be necessary, and had given Merlin the knowledge to do so. That was how men like Uther and Balinor had survived, by anticipating the worst possible scenario and preparing for it. Life had taught them that idealism belonged in chivalric romances, not in war or statecraft.

_Your soul and his are brothers. When you speak to him as kin, he must obey your will. _If Merlin and Kilgharrah had once been brothers, they were long estranged. That must be why Merlin could no longer command him. And yet, Balinor had still told him where a dragon's heart was_. Love your brothers. Show mercy to your enemies. But know where every man's weakness lies, and if he turns, strike first and true. _

If he killed a dragon, would he be a kinslayer, a fratricide? Would he be no better than Morgana, whom the Archbishop called a descendant of Cain, the first and most heinous brother-killer? Cain's sin had turned him into a monster. What would happen to Merlin if he slaughtered dragons instead of speaking to them, if he went against his own destiny? Would he also be twisted into something monstrous?

Some would say the dragons already were monsters. _And I am brother to them, a Dragonlord's spawn, an ill-omened birth. _Some among the Druids would say Merlin already was a traitor to Destiny for serving Camelot instead of the sorcerers who opposed her.

_If I must choose between Arthur and the dragons, I choose Arthur. Let everything else burn._

"Be ready," said Finna. "You must feel him too."

"I do," said Merlin.

There were small mounds in a treeless space ahead of them, barrows such as those which the ancient kings were buried in. Perhaps that was what had brought the dragons here, if treasure was what they sought.

They cleared the top of the nearest mound, and beyond it the ground fell away, and they saw Kilgharrah lying prone in a shallow depression.

"Go to him," said Finna. "If he turns hostile, I will back you."

Merlin dismounted, not wanting to force Misty closer to a creature she would be uncomfortable with at the best of times. As he approached Kilgharrah on foot, he began to have second thoughts about his decision. At least being mounted gave him some extra height. On the ground he felt very insignificant beside the dragon's bulk.

Kilgharrah's body looked different. His scales were no longer the dull russet and brown Merlin remembered. They appeared polished, smoothed. Fire seemed to pulse just under the dragon's skin, and veins of light shot through the skin's surface, making the dragon glow with bright hues: garnet, ruby-red and burgundy. Some fresh power radiated from him, and Merlin felt it on his face, like a blast of heat as one approached a great bonfire.

As Merlin drew near, Kilgharrah uncurled himself, stretching out his long neck, and looked down at Merlin, as he had many times before. There was a fierce brightness in his yellow eyes, yet they were grave and sorrowful as they met Merlin's. For a long time the human and the dragon looked at each other, and something deeper than words passed between them.

"So, young warlock," the dragon said. "You have come at last."

Merlin said just one word. "Why?"

A dragon's face was so unlike a human's, and yet at times Merlin felt he could read Kilgharrah more easily than he could those among his own kind. He could see Kilgharrah was pained now. For all their cryptic nature, their slyness, and the riddles they spoke in, the dragons were still more truthful in their own way than most humans Merlin had known. So was Kilgharrah regretful at the distance that had grown between them, at the lives he had taken? Had he lived over a thousand years, and decided to grow a conscience now?

"I warned you," said Kilgharrah, "that the Dragontongue was a grave gift, not a toy to be played with at whim. I warned you that using it without understanding would have consequences."

"So what's happened is my fault. Again. Explain this to me, Kilgh-"

"_Don't speak my name!"_

The Great Dragon looked up at the sky, as if fearful of what might be watching them. "We dragons are creatures of mind, and will, and speech. Language is essential to our nature. As it was to the humans of old. Know the right words, and you can alter the nature of a thing. Sorcery depends upon this principle. As do your religions, both old and new.

"I'm old enough to remember when the Druids were in this land, and they reckoned their language so sacred, they refused to write it down. They allowed it to be lost rather than let it fall into the wrong hands. I remember the Norsemen who invaded, too, and their god Old One-Eye, the Wordsmith. He _did _write things down, in old runes, but hidden in such cryptic ways that one needed his wisdom to understand what they read - a dragon-mind, he had, though he had the form of a man…

"And I remember when the Palatines, and later, the Franks, made all this land under the Nazarin Creed, and their priests well understood the power of words. 'In the beginning was the Word,' they said. They said with the right incantations, a man could turn bread and wine into the flesh and blood of an immortal god. They said the world began… do you remember how it began?"

"I do," said Merlin. "On the first day the Lord said, 'Let there be light,' and it was so. And then he said, 'Let there be a firmament,' and it was so. He spoke the world into existence. I suppose the Nazarin God is a sorcerer, too. But what does this have to do with anything?"

"When Uther massacred my kind, the voices of dragons fell silent in this land for twenty years. Not until you inherited your father's gift was that voice heard once more in Albion. And whenever you used the Dragontongue to summon me, Merlin, the power of your speech echoed further than you could have foreseen. Magic always has consequences. When you called, it was not I alone who heard you..."

"But you were the last dragon… but for Aithusa..."

"The last dragon in _Albion_. There were others of our kind, fled, or taken as eggs beyond the borders of this island. There were still others, more ancient, who belonged to foreign lands. _She _was such an ancient one. There are legendary figures among dragons, even as there are among humans. She slumbered in the icy north, hiding, fearing the dragon-hunters who had pursued her and slain her sisters. And then she heard your voice on the wind, the voice of a Dragonlord, and she awoke and flew south in search of you. She found me first..."

"_She_? The other dragon? Who is she?"

"I dare not speak her name."

"Why not? Why didn't you, or she, come when I called you?"

"You may command ordinary dragons, Merlin. Your Dragonlord powers are useless against her, for she is a Dragon Queen."

"A _what_?"

"I forget how little you know of our lore, for all the power you wield. There are ranks among dragons, even as there are among your human courts. She is of the Old Blood, descended from the most ancient progenitors of our race. A human king may compel your actions by law or by force, but a High Dragon has sovereignty over the very will and mind of her subjects. She can enslave with a glance, command absolute obedience with a word… her nature is to dominate, and all beings around her are crushed beneath the weight of her will. It is her nature. Just as fire burns, as a fish swims, as a bird flies, she _reigns._"

"That's monstrous," Merlin breathed. "I thought _human_ kings could abuse their powers. She has dominion over your very soul."

Kilgharrah fixed him with one yellow eye. "You think her monstrous? The power she wields is the same power _you _have over _me, _Merlin. Exactly the same. For the Dragonlords' gifts and the Dragon Queen's abilities share the same ancient origin… "

Merlin's face burned with guilt. "That… I'm nothing like her! I only used my powers to stop you attacking Camelot, to protect my people!"

"That is exactly her own rationale. To protect her kind! Humans have hunted dragons to extinction. I was the last one left on this island. Have dragons hunted humans to extinction? Tell me, Merlin, which of our peoples is in greater danger from the other?"

Merlin had no answer to that, so he said, "What does she mean to do?"

"She is a Dragon Queen. A female of breeding age. And she is furious with your race for massacring her cousins in Albion. There is only one thing she can do. She will find as many male drakes as she can. She will breed countless children, queens to protect her bloodline, and warrior drakes as offensive troops. She will brood the eggs in magic and rage, and hatch them as swiftly as she can. Her children's wings will blot out the skies above Albion. An army of dragons, born from wrath, will not rest until the human race which hunted their mother are enslaved or reduced to ashes. A new reign of fire and terror will begin… "

Merlin's mind whirled with the impossibility of what he was hearing. There was too much to take in. "You can't allow this! You can't want this to happen!"

Kilgharrah bowed his head. "I may not have a choice, young warlock. Not unless your will is greater than hers. And even then, perhaps not. Knowledge without will is impotent, but will without knowledge is aimless."

As busy as Merlin's mind was, something stirred in his memory. "How can she hatch eggs? I thought you said only a Dragonlord could hatch new dragons."

"The Dragonlords' gifts were borrowed - some would say stolen - from the High Dragons among my kind. The Dragonlords were once dragon hunters, tasked with preserving Mankind, and stopping the dragons from annihilating your ancestors completely. We dragons were plentiful in the world in those days, and, bound to the will of our warlike rulers, we were a terror to all beings. All of Creation feared us: men, elves, gods. The first Dragonlords knew that Words were the dragons' weakness, the key to our nature and our power. We had to obey the words spoken by our true sovereigns. Our Kings and Queens spoke commands in the Dragontongue, which were the key to dominating us... So the first Dragonlords killed our High Dragons, took their powers, and replaced them."

"_What? _My father-"

"Not him, personally. He merely inherited his gift. Did you never wonder why a Dragonlord's gift is passed on only when the previous holder dies? Most magics can be taught and shared like any other knowledge or ability, but not the Dragonlord's power. Can you think of any institution that is passed down in such a manner?"

"Well… kingship… "

"And that is no accident. The Dragonlord's power is inherited like a royal title because it _is _a royal title… and this Dragon Queen possesses it, just as you do. She has all the abilities of a Dragonlord, even those you little understand, Merlin, and can use them far more effectively than you."

Merlin felt overwhelmed by despair. "How do I stop her, Ki- Great Dragon?"

"You need to study the Dragonlore, Merlin. You need to speak with your father. He may be able to guide you."

Merlin swallowed. "My father is dead."

Kilgharrah shook his head. "Dragonlords and Druids rest less easily than other dead men. It is not difficult for a sorcerer to speak to those beyond the Veil. Ask the Druidess who travels with you how to contact Balinor. She will let you hear your Father's voice. Perhaps he will know if any Dragonlords survived, or if anyone may instruct you."

"But I-"

A great roar tore the still air, cutting Merlin off, reverberating through the forest, shaking the bones of the Earth. Flocks of birds rose in alarm from distant trees.

Kilgharrah's scaly face winced. "She is hunting again," he said. "The mercenaries have provoked her. Arthur and your companions will be in danger. You must protect him."

"But… if my Dragonlord powers don't work against her, how can I stop her?"

"I doubt you can, alone. But perhaps we can hold her off together. I can buy you and Arthur enough time to escape."

"Won't she just command you to get away?"

"You are nearer to me than she is now, so your Voice will be as loud as hers. When you are on the battlefield, when she overpowers you, use your Dragonlord gift on me. Order me to assist you, and your will may shield me from hers. Even if you can't overpower her completely, you will loosen her hold on me enough for me to resist her, and attack."

"Isn't she… stronger than you?"

"She is stronger than all of us, Merlin. But I am useful, as the only adult male dragon in Albion. For that reason, I hope she will not kill me outright, even if she may… hurt me. I alone may do this, as I have some protection against her."

"But Ki-"

"Do it, Merlin! For all of us. Although I would rejoice to see my people's numbers restored, I fear the consequences of another war with Men. And I fear being enslaved by her and used in her conquests, as much as I shrank from being bound to _your _will.

"It has been a joy and a frustration, an honour and an agony, to share a world with you, young warlock! And greet your father for me. He was my friend, and I loved him. And tell him that I say you have made him proud, and already excelled him.

"Now mount your horse, and follow where I fly."

* * *

**A/N:**

Salut, Sapindetin! Thanks as always for your in-depth review. I do appreciate help and constructive criticism with my knowledge of French language and culture. Let me reply to your review in parts! (Somehow this became an essay.)

Re: the use of the French language

Unfortunately, I don't even speak French(!), so at first I tried to avoid the use of the language as much as possible. However, I've established that England in this world has been conquered by the Normans, and also by the later Plantagenet/Angevin kings. That means we are squarely in the period of English chivalry, where French is a hugely influential language among the wealthy elites of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland, and will remain so for several centuries.

England's defeats in the Hundred Years War will cause the English rulers to dissociate from their French ancestry, and identify more strongly with "Englishness." Only then will the English tongue undergo a resurgence in England, and return to its official status. After that, French will not longer be the sophisticated language of the nobility in Britain. However, until that point, I can't write a story in this setting without trying to include some snippets of a language I don't speak, which will mean lots of mistakes ;( _désolée _in advance to my Francophone readers.

Using Modern French to represent whatever the Normans speak

To make things more confusing, the Albion I'm writing has compressed cultures spanning more than a thousand years into one single melting pot. I have included elements from Celtic prehistory, sub-Roman Britain, the Germanic Expansion, Viking Age, Norman and Angevin conquests, etc.

The Normans spoke a Norse-influenced dialect of Old French. This was different to the more standard dialect spoken by the later Angevin rulers. To make matters worse, Norman kings of England like Richard were descended from Eleanor of Aquitaine… which means that as well as Old French, Richard and his brothers spoke Occitan (_langues d'oc_ at that point?). There's no way I can represent all these varieties of Old French/Occitan authentically (bear in mind I can barely say more than _bonjour _and _au revoir). _So to represent whatever the Normans/Frankishmen are speaking, I will try to use phrases in modern French that seem vaguely appropriate. (I realise I used an Old French phrase earlier, but that was only because I knew that one in particular.)

However, I will take your suggestion and use _mon seigneur_ and _ma dame_, avoiding the newer constructions. I considered doing this earlier, but thought it might be confusing, because I know _monseigneur _is also a religious title, and later become attached to the French king's brother. However, I'm also using the English titles _my lord _and _your grace _for both secular and religious leaders, so this makes sense, plus honestly, I'm writing a fantasy so I'm giving myself permission to use whatever titles for Church and State leaders feels right at the time.

Culture of the Anglo-Bretons after the Norman Conquest

I take your point about the Bretons having quite a different language and culture from the rest of France. However, Bleys' father is probably an Anglo-Breton (a Breton born and raised in England, whose ancestors came from Brittany). When William of Normandy invaded England, he brought armies made up of knights from across northern France, mostly Normans, Bretons and Flemings.

The Bretons and Flemings had their own languages and cultures, but because they were part of William's army, and sworn vassals of the Norman kings, I believe they were absorbed into the French language and culture. After arriving in England, they became part of the new nobility, and French was the language of chivalry and court life.

That means that while the Bretons back home in Brittany might have still been very Celtic, the Bretons settled in England after the Norman Conquest must have been at least comfortable with the French language, which became the common language among all educated peoples (including Normans, Franks, Bretons, Flemings, etc.). I believe the Anglo-Bretons also dressed like Normans and followed the Norman fashions, so they would have looked quite French to the local Anglo-Saxon people.

My knowledge of Brittany is admittedly very poor, so I don't know how much Breton culture was retained by the Bretons who came over to England. I have read that the Norman kings often sent Breton lords to conquer Welsh territory, because the Bretons still spoke a Celtic language like the Welshmen, and had memories of originally coming from Britain, so invading Wales was like taking back their own land! However, I'm sure the Welsh still perceived the Anglo-Bretons as invaders, because even if they still spoke a Celtic language, they also dressed like Frenchmen, served the Norman kings, and probably seemed foreign to the Welsh.

On Bleys' Saxon mother... Initially in England, intermarriage between French speakers and Anglo-Saxon peasants was stigmatised. However, a lot of male knights came to Britain to fight for the Normans, and eventually many of them "went native" and took local Anglo-Saxon women as wives. So many Normans, Bretons and Flemings eventually married Saxon women, and my character Bleys would be a product of such a mixed marriage. He probably learnt some Anglo-Saxon from his mother. I imagine if his Breton father was a noble, he would have made sure his son learnt French to function in high society, but perhaps he passed on some Breton language to him as well (unless it was forgotten after generations in England).

Also… because my timeline is all over the place, I'm not sure if the Bretons on the mainland live in Armorica, Brittany, a duchy conquered by the Normans, or some fusion of all three...

By the way, I like to think Bleys was brought up with some Celtic heritage from his Breton father, even though he speaks French. He is a bard who is interested in old legends, plus, I cheekily used the spelling "Bleys" from Tennyson's poems, but his name corresponds to Father Blaise of the Arthurian legends. I believe you asked me about Blaise many months ago… well, I decided to make him a bard instead of a churchman, for now. So keep an eye on him!


	24. Reap the Whirlwind

"Good King Arthur after the crucifixion of Our Lord... was a puissant King, and one that well believed in God, and many were the good adventures that befel at his court. And he had in his court the Table Round that was garnished of the best knights in the world. King Arthur after the death of his father led the highest life and most gracious that ever king led, in such sort that all the princes and all the barons took ensample of him in well-doing.

For ten years was King Arthur in such estate as I have told you, nor never was earthly king so praised as he, until that a slothful will came upon him and he began to lose the pleasure in doing largesse that he wont to have, nor was he minded to hold court neither at Christmas-tide nor at Easter nor at Pentecost…

Queen Guenievre was so sorrowful thereof that she knew not what counsel to take with herself, nor how she might so deal as to amend matters, so God amended them not…"

\- Anonymous Old French Romance, _Perceval le Gallois ou le conte du Graal_, c. 1200 AD. English Translation Sebastian Evans, 1898.

* * *

_Sixteen years ago_

"Arthur! Arthur! Why are you down 'ere, you obstinate boy? Come back to your lessons."

Sister Flavia appeared in the doorway of the crypt, her handsome face flushed with the exertion of wandering the castle, her veil askew.

"It's _Arthur, _Sister Flavia," the prince said stubbornly. ""A_rr_thu_rr,_" he repeated, trilling the r's. "Not A_gh_tu_gh_." The good Sister, like many Normans with Frankish as their first language, had trouble making r's with her tongue, instead pronouncing them at the back of her throat.

"Ah!" said Sister Flavia, a glint coming into her eye. "Will you mock me, you saucy boy? You may not correct my Cambric pronunciation, while your own Frankish leaves so much to be desired! Have you been practising your conjugation of _parler_, as you promised you would? Come now. _Je parle, tu parles, il parle, elle parle..."_

Arthur, who was sick to death of the word _parle, _turned back to the heavy marble coffer he had been examining. "Whose tomb is this?" he asked, intrigued by the sculpted image of a knight with a greatsword, and the diverse other military accoutrements adorning the grave.

The Sister, who had been sweeping towards Arthur, hesitated, stopping short of the great stone case. She seemed reluctant to frame a reply at first, but then she relented. Arthur knew Sister Flavia approved of him asking questions about the castle, for she wished him to learn his history one way or another, and he had often escaped from his language lessons by diverting his tutor in this manner. She said, in sombre tones, "This is the grave of Sir Tristan. _Le Chevalier Noir, _they called him."

"Why does he have such a huge ossuary? Surely his bones couldn't be that big. Was he a giant?"

"Sir Tristan was a big man, but he was no giant. The coffin is so large because his entire body is kept here."

"What?" said Arthur. "Why didn't he get a ship burial? Is it because he didn't die in battle? Was he a coward, who died lying in bed, with the blankets pulled up to his chin, like a woman?"

If Sister Flavia was offended by the slight against the courage of her sex, she did not show it, for she was accustomed to the prejudices of her time, and shared in not a few of them herself.

"Sir Tristan was no coward!" said she. "He died as he had lived, acquitting himself with honour on the field of combat. But he spurned the ship burial which was his right. Such was his devotion to the New Religion, he rejected the burial in Water and Fire of our ancestors, and chose to be interred in the Earth from which God made us. For as the Good Book says of mankind, '_Pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris,' _that is, 'Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return.' You would know that if you had applied yourself to your Scripture lessons!

"Besides which, Sir Tristan had been a Crusader, and the loss of the Holy Land to the Saracens wounded him deeply. It was his firm conviction that as a Soldier of the Cross, he must not leave the Earth and abandon his post, until the Holy Tomb had been recaptured from the infidels. He gave orders before his passing that his body should be placed in the soil, there to sleep until the Archangel Gabriel sounds the trumpet blast at the End of Days, whereupon the Defenders of the Cross will waken once more and march into the Holy Land…"

Fascinated by the images Sister Flavia's words conjured up, Arthur found himself staring at the cold stone box in this dank crypt, all inside a sealed basement of the castle. A cobwebbed mausoleum did not seem a fitting resting place for such a pious and heroic man, whose life had been filled with warlike faith and manly vigour.

Eventually, Arthur asked, "Do you think we will ever reconquer the Holy Land from the Saracens?"

"If God wills it," said Sister Flavia. "However, be cautious when revelling in the feats of the Crusaders, my prince. These holy knights are noble men, whose strong arms have safeguarded the lands of the True Faith. But the military forces of Mother Church have grown so vast that some men are in danger of forgetting her true purpose. Our knights and princes have turned conquerors, and the hearts of our people have been quickly inflamed to war. Too often we forget that we were called to serve the Prince of Peace.

"The true enemy is not the proud Saracen or the haughty Turk. These are, after all, but fellow men, made of the same Earth from which our Creator sculpted us. The true Enemy is much closer to home than the East. There are many knights who are eager to fight the Deceiver if he wears a Saracen's turban, but they are unable to recognise him when he gazes back at them from the looking-glass. They have forgotten that the higher Crusade, a private one, is waged inside the battlefield of our own hearts. Swift to declare war on enemy kings, they have never thought to wage war against their own evil natures or their darker impulses. And there is darkness within every soul, my prince."

Round-eyed, Arthur asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Arthur, that one day you will be king. You will be forced to fight many wars, and you have been trained to martial pursuits since birth. But on that first dreadful day when the darkness of the soul falls upon you, you will find your military weapons quite useless. Only spiritual arms will benefit you then. In preparation for that day, you must gird yourself with the armour of the Lord. Take up the lance of Justice and the shield of Mercy. Put on the breastplate of Faith and inscribe upon it the name of He Who Saves.

"You will have no earthly companions with you on that long campaign, for each man goes on the plains of suffering alone, as our Lord did in the desert. But when the Enemy comes upon you in that valley of death's shadow, take heart, and call upon the Apostles and the Holy Virgin, and they will instantly be by your side. These blessed souls remained beside the Saviour during His earthly torment, and washed and bound the wounds He suffered for our sakes, so they will surely not leave you either.

"And one day, when you wear the crown of Camelot, Arthur, remember that it is the peacemakers who are blessed, not the warmongers. When your earls and knights urge you to shed the blood of your enemies, remember another King who shed His blood so that all men might live… "

"I will remember," Arthur promised. He looked at the tomb again. "Do you really think Sir Tristan will rise up and fight again?"

"Assuredly he will," said Sister Flavia. "A knight's word is his bond, and he may not put down the burden of his duty, even in death. All things are possible with faith."

And that, at least, had turned out to be true. For Sister Flavia had been right: the Black Knight did ride again. And it was faith that raised him, though it was a cruel irony that a High Priestess, serving the Goddess of the Old Religion, should reanimate a body which in life had burned only for the Holy Cross.

Afterwards, when Arthur learnt the truth of all that had occurred, he felt an all too familiar guilt. It was because of him that the Black Knight had first died, and because of him that Tristan du Bois was raised from the dead and killed again. That second time, an enchanted sword had totally destroyed the Black Knight's body, scattering him into countless particles of dust. _Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return. _What would that mean for Sir Tristan on the Day of Resurrection? Surely God could give the knight a new body? But would the Nazarin God accept the soul of a man whose body had been so cruelly used, raised with forbidden magics, then defiled beyond recognition? Was Arthur responsible for his uncle being denied the company of the Heavenly Martyrs?

On some nights, in his dreams, Arthur felt he had entered the plains Sister Flavia had spoken of, and witnessed that battlefield of the soul's twilight. On those nights he saw the shade of Tristan du Bois accusing him, along with all the others Arthur had wronged: Druid children, witches burned at the stake, men wrongly executed. The victims of the Pendragon kings were numberless, and they formed up against Arthur like an opposing army. And facing them, Arthur rode alone, armed with nothing but his faltering faith. He did as Sister Flavia had instructed, and called upon the Holy Saints and the Mother of God, but his prayers were hollow and insincere things, shouted into an empty sky, and no one answered him.

It was just as his father had always said: in the end, a king stood alone.

* * *

On a grassy field, the dragon hunters waited.

In the fore were a company of mercenaries, arrayed in battle formation. Some ways behind them were the Norman forces, consisting of the knights brought by Earl Gallien and Prince Edward, while surrounding this host, like the three petals of the fleur-de-lys, were the Saxons, Danes and Cambricmen.

"Well, King Arthur," called Earl Gallien. "I have heard that your House has much experience in dragon slaying. Perhaps your presence will turn the tide for us. Else we have all ridden to the slaughter."

"I have fought a dragon," Arthur replied. "Or rather, endured a siege from one. A dragon cannot be directly assaulted, any more than one can charge a thunderstorm or rout the whirlwind. A dragon ravaged my city, in which we had the advantage of stone walls for shelter, and battlements from which to launch strikes, and we still lost many lives. To confront one on an open plain is sheer folly."

"What!" scoffed Simon, the mercenary captain. "Is the Dragon King so unmanned by a mere lizard, the emblem of his House, which should be subject to him?"

"How curious," said Earl Gallien's diviner, Charinus, a holy man in occult robes of a singular aspect, "that the King of Camelot counsels us against assailing this dragon. Did he not pledge every assistance in defeating it?"

"Indeed I did," said Arthur. "And it were for that reason I would not have us cast away our lives needlessly. An enemy this ancient and powerful requires a careful stratagem to overcome it, and every man living we can spare."

The leader of the Danes, a gigantic warrior with fair, braided hair, said, "The Dragon King speaks true. We were hired for our dragon-knowing, and we call this folly. These beasts are cunning, and may only be defeated by those mightily skilled, heroic, or kissed by the gods. Ride to heroic deaths, if you will, but the gods love not stupid men. And no man shall call us cowards for these words, not without feeling my war-axe against his skull."

Captain Simon did not seem pleased by these words. "Perhaps if you had employed your 'dragon-knowing' sooner, Vyking, there would be no need for us to take the field in our folly. How many nights have you passed here? And yet the beast remains."

"Dragons are not easy prey," said the great Dane. "They are not like companies of you Southmen, weaklings to be scattered by a beardless boy. No, they are quarries who deserve respect, and the proper forms must be observed when approaching them."

"By the time your proper forms have been observed, all the North will be ash, and no soul will be alive to pay your fee," said the captain.

Another man-at-arms in the mercenary company called from the front ranks, "Captain! It comes!"

A sudden stillness went over the assembled troops. Archers nocked arrows and drew their strings, awaiting the command that must follow, and every eye was turned to the blue sky above the dancing tree branches.

"Ha!" the Dane leader said to those close to him, in the silence. "Now we shall see how these southern Britons fight against the Wyrm."

Arthur felt the ground trembling beneath his feet, as though a great train of horses were galloping by. Birds erupted from the forest around him and winged away, crying in alarm.

A roar went up, a sound Arthur had never heard before, not even from the Great Dragon of Camelot. It had something of the snarling of a woodland beast in it, like a gigantic bear, and something of the blasting of trumpets. Within it there were even deafening notes of music, as if that roar were sung by a gigantic human tongue. If an Angel watching the crucifixion of the Lord had screamed its throat hoarse in a cry of fury, that sound might have approached what Arthur heard.

The dragon burst into view, its gigantic golden bulk springing out of the treeline and into the air with the ease of a falcon launching itself from a glove. The sight of a creature so vast moving with such unnatural velocity struck a terror into Arthur he could not remember feeling before.

Cries arose from all around him and, recovering himself, he took aim at the beast and released an arrow. A cloud of projectiles were loosed into the sky from the ranks of men, flying at the dragon like a swarm of wasps seeking to assault the heavens. Even as he shot, Arthur knew it would be futile; even so, he fumbled in his quiver for another arrow.

The dragon opened its mouth and issued forth a thin mist, and the hail of arrows was blasted away and shattered into fragments, which rained down upon the company. Folding its wings, the beast dived suddenly and alighted at the edge of the treeline, its sinuous body slinking like a cat's.

Now that Arthur had recovered from his initial shock, the sight of the beast was beginning to register with him. The first thing he noticed was its enormous size, for it appeared twice as large as the Great Dragon of Camelot. Its colour was different also, its scales flashing with myriad hues of amber, flame-colour, and honey, which moved about its body like living fire. Its skin glimmered like the surface of a treasure-hoard under torchlight. Even from this distance, Arthur could see the glare of its enormous yellow eyes, which had an eldritch power to them as they roamed over the men on the field.

Somehow, Arthur knew that he would tremble if that gaze fell directly upon him.

And then the dragon _spoke._

Its jaws opened, and a sound came forth, but each man standing there heard something different, whether his native tongue was Cambric, Saxon, Frankish or otherwise. The dragon's voice did not merely vibrate the air with the force of its passing: it buffeted their very minds, imprinting sensations and images, forcing _words _upon their perceptions that could not be denied.

"I smell Norsemen!" the dragon thundered. "I smell Norsemen!" she cried, shaking her scaly neck, pacing from side to side. "I smell the frost in their veins, the stink of their animal furs! I smell their cunning linden-wood shields, the stench of hot springs on their bodies. I smell the Dragonslayers' blades they carry, and the runes of the All-Father they wear! Have they come south in pursuit of me, carrying the raven banners of Old One-Eye, my people's foe?"

The wind changed direction, and the dragon stopped suddenly, her tail lashing. When she spoke again, her voice was at an even greater pitch.

"I smell Pendragons!" she bellowed. "I can taste the Old Kings of Cambria in the air! Those cross-bred mules with the blood of Man and Faery in their veins, which brought so much malice into the world... Did they think I would forget that stink of treachery? Has the son of Uther Dragonsbane come before me? Is this the spawn of that hatchling-slayer, that smasher of eggs, who dared to take a dragon as his own standard, even as he watered his fields with our blood? Oh, this joyous day! I will sate my jaws with the flesh of all my kind's killers!"

The terrible yellow gaze of the dragon passed over the crowd, and somehow her great eyes found Arthur's. It was as the prince had feared: he felt the force of that glance piercing him like a javelin, pinning him to the spot. His limbs were paralysed, and he struggled to draw breath, as though the dragon's look alone had the power to crush his chest in a vice.

For the next few moments the dragon was silent, perhaps because her attention was fixed on Arthur. The vacuum left by the absence of her massive voice seemed to give the world a chance to draw breath, and the assembled men to recollect their senses.

Simon, the captain of the mercenaries, recovered enough to cry out, "What? Does the beast imitate the speech of men? How can this be?"

This was a mistake, for the dragon instantly turned from Arthur to the unhappy captain.

"Wretched ape," she hissed at him. "_I, _imitate the speech of men? _I, _whose grand-dames spoke Words of Power while your people had not emerged from caves? Insect! A candle will teach the Sun to shine before Mankind schools me in the grunting they call speech! You comprehend me because I dull my voice enough for your dead minds to grasp snatches of my meaning - but no. I will _show _you.

"Hear my True Speech, unclean ape. Hear but two words of it. You may not pronounce them, but in your backwards tongue they mean _Fire _and _Wind. _These are the Elements from which my kind was born, and they are most sacred to us, for we were not made to root in the Earth like pigs and men. Hearken!"

And the dragon opened her jaws, and spoke two words in the Dragontongue.

The vastness of the dragon's voice had shaken them previously, but what she spoke now was more potent still. It was as though she had merely been brushing against the edges of their minds before, and now she pulled back the veil of their perceptions and allowed some of the raw power of her own burning will to flood in.

Prior to this, Arthur thought he had understood what _Fire _and _Wind _meant. He had been mistaken. He had _seen _fire, from burning hearths to blazing forests, and even the great fire of the Sun. He had felt the gentle breeze, and been driven before storms and violent gales as he rode in the woods. Yet what the dragon spoke of now was the _essence _of those elements, and for a mercifully brief moment, Arthur felt his mind grasp those concepts with a tiny fraction of the understanding the dragonkind had of them.

It was a wonder his intellect did not fracture at the force of what it was compelled to feel. It seemed he had been raised in a darkened cellar all his life, and now, without warning, thrust into the glare of the midsummer sun. His inner eyes were blinded. He felt like an ant given the whole weight of a human being's experience - wouldn't its entire body strain under the weight of a single human thought? This must be how it would feel for a human being to be burdened with the understanding of an Angel, or to touch the very mind of God!

The senses of dragons were many times sharper than those of men, their minds vaster, more agile and powerful beyond imagining. They lived for centuries, saw further than Man who lived but a season, understood more deeply than him, and grasped the true essences of things, for by their nature they could not be deceived.

As Arthur caught a glimpse of this dragon's inner life, he was filled with horror anew, for it lent a fresh perspective to his father's wars against their kind. Uther had thought he was ridding the world of evil, but how could creatures of such exquisite sensitivity, situated above Man on the ladder of Creation, be an affront to the Heavens? Man called himself made in the image of the Creator, yet to the dragons, men must seem like mayflies, living for a day, crushed by the merest flap of their wings. To the dragons it must seem that _they _were given dominion over all other beings, and that their birthright was to rule over all.

If a man's thoughts were but a single voice, the dragon's resounded as a celestial choir, echoing with harmonies and antiphonies that bewildered the human spirit. And this was merely one creature. Had each dragon been like this, a nation unto itself, a soul filled with the wisdom of centuries and the memories of an entire kingdom? If so, what had his father done by killing a whole race of such beings, born from a nature elder to and wiser than Man's? What violence had Uther done to the world, by plucking out such a rare thread in God's Creation, and pulling on it until His tapestry had unravelled, so that Uther could reweave the landscape anew?

With a shudder, Arthur remembered how Gaius had told him the dragons were creatures of the Old Religion. _The Old Religion. _A phrase that, to the people of Camelot, conjured up only evil things, witches and blood sacrifices and phantoms of the night. And yet now, even with this dragon menacing them, Arthur could see there was transcendent beauty in this creature's existence, as well as eldritch terror. How could something this awe-inspiring be born of evil? This was what Merlin had spoken of, when he said the Old Religion flowed where life was greater than itself, where the world vibrated with energy beyond the ordinary. This was what Bishop Rhodri had explained, when he said that St Augustine had allowed there was goodness and wisdom to be found in the righteous pagans of Old, who glimpsed God's beauty and strove towards truth and wisdom, although they had lived and died outside the Faith.

But it was one thing to be told of these truths; quite another to experience them firsthand. The dragon's burning consciousness had torn a veil of darkness from Arthur's mind. Its gaze had pierced his soul, just as that flaming cherub had thrust its spear into the bosom of Blessed St Teresa, scorching the darkness from her heart. So too the dragon had filled Arthur's mind with pain, even while expanding his awareness beyond the human.

But if all those arrayed on that field had their spirits shaken by the dragon's voice, the mercenaries standing directly before her were especially unfortunate. For as the dragon opened her jaws and spoke in her native tongue, the Words leaving her mouth became the Elements themselves. And if the minds of men were ill-equipped to bear the voices of dragons, men's bodies were more fragile still.

A torrent of fire exploded from the dragon's mouth. Fanned by an eldritch wind, the flames expanded into an inferno, which set the field ablaze. In an instant, Arthur's mind was turned from thoughts of Heaven to those of Hell. He had seen the horrors of war before, but never like this.

Three quarters of the men in the mercenary company were consumed by the flame. Those closest to the dragon crumbled to ash instantly, while the others, less fortunate, had time to feel the skin slough from their bones, their flesh char, their vital humours boil and evaporate in a matter of heartbeats. It took a moment for the sounds and smells of the incinerated men to reach the other warriors, fanned by that unnatural wind. Suddenly, the stench of burning meat, the screams of terrified men and horses, and an overpowering aroma of charcoal assaulted their senses.

Most of the remaining ranks of soldiers broke and turned to flee instantly. The carnage was so terrible, so outside of the realm of their experience, that horror drove them out of their senses. The most sadistic priest, schooled in the verses of fire and brimstone, could not have designed such a vivid picture of the Inferno with which to terrify the faithful.

Arthur watched the tableau of Hellfire with a sinking heart. He longed to turn and flee with the others, but he could not. From the dragon's perspective, this was just retribution, for hadn't her kind been slaughtered by men? But all that had been the doing of Arthur's House. These men were innocent. They were not the ones against whom the dragon bore a grudge.

_Now is the time to screw your courage to the sticking-place._

It was too late to make peace with the dragons now. Perhaps if Merlin were here, he could have communicated with them, found a more peaceful way, as he had always advocated. But Arthur had no power to reason with this dragon, which was yet another evil consequence born from his father's aggression. Would the cycle of vengeance continue forever, as it had with the Druids?

Knowing that death awaited him, knowing that the battle was even more futile than it had been at the start, Arthur holstered his crossbow, dressed his lance, and spurred his courser into a gallop.

"What are you doing?" shouted the Dane leader. "You have heart, Young Dragon! Will you throw your life away?"

"To me!" Arthur shouted. "Those who would die facing this threat rather than with their backs turned, to me! If St George, the patron of dragonslayers is with us, may he grant us the victory! For the love of Camelot!"

Amazingly, Arthur's cry brought some riders rallying around him. He was aware of his own knights and Cabricmen riding behind him, then the Danes keeping pace with him, some of the Saxons trailing behind, and then even some of the haughty Normans

_Poor fools, _thought Arthur, _following me to their deaths. But it is better this way. One should never die with his back to the Fiend. _

"For the love of Camelot!" shouted the knights and Cambricmen, echoing Arthur's cry.

"The Young Dragon!" shouted the Dane leader, while the Saxons added their voices: "St George! St George for Merry Angland!" And then came the Norman battle cries: "_En avant! En avant pour Edward le Bel!"_

A wedge of knights, with Arthur at their point like an arrowhead, flew across the ashen field towards the golden dragon.

The beast saw their approach and settled down on her forepaws, her eyes narrowed into slits of pleasure. She looked like a cat watching the approach of a phalanx of field-mice.

"Yes, come to me, Pendragon," she said, "like a moth to flame. Ride into the maw of death, and rejoice, for soon you will be burning with your father in Tartarus."

When they were less than half a furlong from the beast, she opened her mouth again.

"Scatter!" shouted Arthur, and the riders around him did so, some of them loosing arrows and other missiles as they veered away. Arthur did not alter his course, however, seeking to draw the dragon's wrath.

She unleashed a blast of flame at him, and Arthur, knowing he had no means of protection, simply rode into the oncoming fire, intending to go out with courage, if nothing else. But at the last instant the Dane leader charged into Arthur, diverting his horse.

"No!" cried Arthur, as the Northman launched himself from his steed, and was swallowed up in the blaze of fire meant for Arthur. But when the flames died, the mighty Dane was unharmed, his body sheltered behind a vast shield, which somehow had the power to stand up against dragonflame.

"You are valiant, Youngwyrm!" said the Dane. "Value your life more highly."

"Cunning!" said the dragon. "Cunning are the children of All-Father! But I will not be cheated of my prey!"

In a clatter of wings she arose, and the draughts from her wingbeats flattened man and horse alike. Landing beside Arthur, the dragon batted Danes, Saxons, and Cambricmen away, clearing the space around her and the king of Camelot.

"This is for my unhatched kin, Pendragon," she said, "for the broken shells that cried out to me as I lay dreaming." And she spat a gout of golden flame at him.

Arthur closed his eyes and bowed his head. _If this is the sentence Providence has passed against me for my father's sins, let it stand, _he thought, and waited to die.

But the pain never came. When Arthur opened his eyes, the dragonfire flared before him, unable to touch him, as though he were protected by an invisible veil, shielding him from heat and light. When the flames finally died away, the dragon had lost interest in Arthur. Her head swivelled around on her sinuous neck and her nostrils flared, and Arthur followed the direction of her gaze.

A grey mare galloped on the battlefield, and on her back rode an old man crowned with a mane of white hair, which flowed into his long white beard. He held a staff of power aloft in his hand, and it glowed and crackled with eldritch power.

The dragon lashed her tail and flapped her wings.

"_Emrys!" _she bellowed.


	25. The Tongues of Men or Dragons

The scripture teaches us that the greatest of the serpents is the dragon and that it deals death by its poisonous breath... It lies in wait for the elephant, the most chaste of animals… The Jews say that God made the great dragon which is called Leviathan, which is in the sea... And this beast, at one time called a dragon and at another Leviathan, is used in the Scripture symbolically. The dragon, the greatest of all serpents, is the devil, the king of all evil.

\- Hugo de Folieto, c. 1110-72 CE, translated by Druce.

* * *

Behold now Behemoth, which I made with thee… He is chief of the ways of God…

Canst thou draw out Leviathan… ? Will he make many supplications unto thee? Will he speak soft words unto thee? Will he make a covenant with thee? Wilt thou take him for a servant for ever?

Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out. Out of his nostrils goeth smoke... His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth. In his neck remaineth strength, and sorrow is turned to joy before him.

When he raiseth himself up, the mighty are afraid… The arrow cannot make him flee… he laugheth at the shaking of a spear.

Upon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear. He beholdeth all high things: he is a king over all the children of pride.

\- Job, 40, 41.

* * *

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal…

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

\- Corinthians, 1:13.

* * *

Up rose the dragon on outspread wings, and the shadow of her body upon the field was as the shadow of a skyborne fortress.

Merlin dismounted and sent his mare away, going upon his own two feet, his body bent and feeble with the weight of the illusion he wore. The grass was soft under his feet, so unlike the scorched and bloodied earth blighted by the dragon's breath.

All was silent as Dragonlord and Dragon Queen came together in the plain's centre. The dragon landed before Merlin and put up her wings, looking at him curiously. She broke the silence first, not with fire and fury, but with surprisingly gentle speech.

"So this is he," she said, "who presumes to call himself Lord of Dragons." Her voice was a deep rumble, like the purring of a titanic cat, mingled with the whispering of ocean waves before the storm. "What a small thing you are for such great presumption. Tell me, manling, how are you named?"

Merlin, who knew that it was a bad idea to give one's true name to a dragon, but also that lying to one directly was a worse idea, decided to reply in the manner of Kilgharrah: truthfully, but cryptically.

"You already know my name among the Druids," he said. "They call me _Emrys_, for they say I have lived for ages, and also _Aurelianus, _for gold is the king of metals. But you know this well, for you are also long-lived, and it seems gold is the hue of royalty among dragons, too, O Queen."

"Do not equate yourself to me," rumbled the dragon, though Merlin felt he had spoken wisely in mentioning her rank. Flattery must be a weakness of hers, as it was with all of her kind. For Lucifer the Morningstar, whose great sin was Pride, had taken the form of a Dragon when he was cast out of Paradise. He had once been first among the Angels, just as the dragons were first among all beasts on Earth.

"But tell me," the dragon continued pleasantly, "of your station in the kingdoms of mortal men. What is your parentage? One who aspires to rule over dragons must have some great title among his own kind."

Now that her flames had stopped, her breath smelt not of sulphur and poison, but of frankincense and the burning of sweet spices. Her fumes washed over Merlin like a hot, perfumed breeze, playing with his long hair and beard, even as the purring of her voice threatened to lull him into a stupor. Her eyes shone like distant moons, hypnotic and irresistible. Merlin remembered how the Crystal of Neahtid had compelled him to look into it against his will, and how, in the Crystal Cave, some power had drawn him to gaze into those mystic gems. It seemed to him that the dragon's eyes had the same power as those crystals, that she herself was a reservoir of magic, just as that cavern Taliesin had escorted him to.

Merlin said, "I was born a commoner, and yet I was born a nobleman."

"Indeed?" said the dragon. "So much for your hatching. And now?"

"Now I command dragons, yet I am servant to them."

"Sloppy," said the dragon. "That you serve the Pendragons was already plain. Your riddling grows lazy. Yet you speak well, for one whose race is still in its infancy. In the days when men were our slaves, I would have made you a pet to entertain our nestlings, just as your kind cages the songbird. But now my curiosity is sated."

The notes in her voice sharpened somewhat, and Merlin experienced a frisson of fear, recalling that she was as monstrous as she was beautiful.

"And mine is not," Merlin said. "I gave you three answers. I am owed something in return. Who are you? Why have you come here?"

The dragon's eyes glittered dangerously, but she said, "In your speech you may call me _Nemesis_, for I come to you as the avenger of wrongs unpunished, the recompense of crimes unforgiven. I am the daughter of a race so ancient we have forgotten more than Man will ever learn. We were not alone in the world, in my hatchling days. The Dragonkind were plentiful, and there were other old ones who warred against us. I remember the Giants, the Elves and the Merfolk… how empty the world seemed when I awoke. Your kind have driven all away.

"Was it truly meant to be thus? The Olympians rose up and cast down their elders, the Titans. The Aesir, too, drove back the Vanir and the Eotens. The Tuatha Dé Danann were banished from the Emerald Isle by mere men. I wonder, has Fate condemned the elder peoples to be ever slain by upstart newcomers? Is this why all things have retreated before the squalling, brutish, short-lived plague called Mankind?

"Long have I slept, lulled into repose by the songs of my sisters. But my dreams were soured by discordant notes in the dragonsong. I heard pain and fear in the harmonies of my kin. And then, for a time, there was naught but silence. Then I was awoken by a new voice, speaking with the authority of a Royal Dragon. It roused me into a world I could not recognise…"

The dragon regarded Merlin coldly. "Kilgharrah has told me much of you, none of it pleasing. He withheld as much from me as he could, even your true name, though it was no easy thing for him to resist me. I have waited for this day for some time... but you wear a glamour about you now. Cast it off."

Merlin hesitated. "I may not," he said.

"Because the men you fight for despise your talents, such as they are. So you hide from them even as you hide from me. What are you, manling, that you must skulk in shadows, wearing a mask before your own people even as you do before your foes? What a strange life you lead. Do you not bear a grudge against Uther Dragonsbane almost as great as mine?"

"I did bear him a grudge, Great Dragon! But I learnt to deal with it otherwise than by repaying him in kind. Meeting violence with violence only engenders more bloodshed."

"So this is your way of punishing the slayer of your kindred? By playing nursemaid to his son and defending his kingdom? Cast off that glamour! It were an ill thing that you came before me in a guise not your own, like a fox wearing a lion's skin. But I should expect such slyness from you, who are but an upstart ape soaring on the stolen wings of a Lord of Dragons! Are you ashamed of what you truly are, warlock? Men will never esteem you if you cannot esteem yourself. Shed that false skin you wear! Else I shall pluck it off for you, and I will not be gentle!"

Somehow, in this moment, speaking to a creature of magic as vast and ancient as the dragon, Merlin did not care very much about the consequences of revealing himself. If he couldn't stop the dragon, everyone present would burn anyway, whether at the stake or in her breath.

He released the glamour, and felt his true appearance return, straightening his back as youth and strength flowed into his limbs.

"Why," said the dragon, "I perceived you were young, but you are little more than a hatchling, even by man's reckoning. You lack even the chin-scales of your elders. I came south, hoping to find more of my kind. But for Kilgharrah, there were none of my people left. And the Dragonlord's Voice I sought comes from this tiny manling who has usurped the power of the Royal Blood. Surely the Fates have a sense of humour!"

Merlin replied, "You _did _find others of your kind. We are both creatures of the Old Religion, O Queen. We are kin."

The dragon made a violent noise, whether of amusement or anger, Merlin could not tell. "Old Religion. Is that how you name it now? What is old to you remains before my eyes yet. I see the meaning behind your words… Druids… High Priestesses… those who draw upon the primal forces. You speak of the Great Powers which spawned both your people and mine.

"Are we kin, sorcerer? We _are _both creatures of magic. An ant and a lion are both creatures of the forest, but should the ant roar with a lion's voice and name itself lord of the pride, would that not be effrontery? A minnow and a great whale both swim in the same element, but should the minnow call the whale his brother, would the whale submit to him?

"My true kin of this island are dead, bar one, whom you have made your slave. Can you see how distasteful you are to me? If I had murdered your people and usurped their place, would you welcome me into your household as an honoured guest? Well, perhaps you would, for Uther Dragonsbane has spilled your blood as well as mine, and you have thought it fitting to be his slave and his son's slave. But this is not how the Dragonkind repay our blood-debts. It is insult upon insult that you presume to command my kind, while remaining a grovelling serf to mere men..."

Merlin felt he was losing his grip on the conversation. He knew that whatever she might say, the dragon must still be curious about him, else she would not keep talking. "So this is the purpose of your coming here. To demand payment of a blood-debt from Camelot. Tell me, O Queen, what would satisfy you? A life for a life? How many dragons did Uther slay? Would you demand that many human lives in exchange?"

"If a single dragon's egg was weighed against every member of your miscreant species, I would hold the egg still dearer," said the dragon.

"So human lives have no value to you," said Merlin. "But that will be a point of contention between us, for they have value to me."

"And what does that matter?"

"It matters because I cannot allow you to have your retribution. I know Uther has wronged you, but indiscriminate slaughter will not bring back your kin. Can you not see that failure to value the lives of others is what brought Uther to his crimes? There comes a time when we must leaven justice with mercy."

"Mercy!" said the dragon, and fumes curled from her nostrils. "That any of your kind yet breathe is undeserved mercy from me!"

"Then let it be so!" said Merlin. "You boast that you live a hundred times longer than us, that you are a hundred times greater in strength and knowledge. You call us vermin, and say that you are the elder race. Then _be _the elder to us! Be vast not only in size and power, but in compassion and forgiveness! It is the duty of old age to endure the mistakes of youth, to show restraint to the headstrong. Is the greatness of the dragons only in the size of your jaws and your talons? Where is the greatness of your soul, your vaunted wisdom? Did you do nothing but slash and burn all those centuries, or was there room for self-reflection? The unexamined life is not worth living. How much more true for a life as long as yours..."

"Peace!" hissed the dragon. "Do you purpose to teach me ethics, insect?"

"Insect I may be!" shouted Merlin. "But even a tiny gadfly may sting a great horse into action. So let me be an insect, I will still prick your conscience until it bleeds! And you may swat me easily, but you will not find another like me, to goad you into a better course! You say you remember the Aesir? Do you remember how Loki came as a gadfly during the forging of Mjolnir and weakened even the weapon of the gods? Ignore insects at your own peril, Queen of Dragons! You are great, but history teaches that even the mighty can be hobbled by a fly's sting..."

The dragon drew back, a strange expression on her reptilian face. "That is twice you have quoted the words of the Philosopher! How is it that a little manling, earthbound, his life transient as the blowing lily's, echoes the teachings of the Athenians, and recalls the deeds of the dwellers in Asgard?"

"My mentor was a scholar," said Merlin. "He forced me to learn the Lore of the Ancients. Perhaps man's life is as the blinking of an eye to you. But though our days are fleeting, we spend them recording the deeds of the past. We exhaust the few hours we have on Earth fumbling to preserve the knowledge of our kind. We read, and tell stories, and through them we live many lives, and experience many ages, and make our memories last almost as long as your dragon-songs! Just as you, we are creatures of word, will and thought. We seek to discover truth, to hold the universe in the palm of our hands. Do you still deny that we are your kin, though younger and in the childhood of our race?

"We do not have your centuries in this world, or your might, or your magic. But blind and fragile as we are, some of us have achieved greatness of heart and generosity of spirit, even in the few days we are permitted before death takes us. Can you say the same for your kind? Is there nothing but vengeance and domination in you? Have all your centuries of life made you no more forgiving and peaceful of heart than the lowest human?"

The dragon roared, flapping her wings and thrashing her tail. She paced from side to side.

"Father Charybdis!" she roared. "Have the Druids placed the souls of their prophets in this hatchling's body? Do they call him _Emrys _that he has lived countless lives, recalling the memories of past ages? For surely no Man has dared speak to me thus since the days when greybeards disputed in the marketplace of Athens!

"Or is he a _skald, _a wordsmith whose lips have touched the mead-cup of Asgard? How else does he weave skeins of speech to snare me, as Artemis spreads a net for a hart? It is well that the Druids call him _Aurelanius_, for he has a golden tongue… "

The dragon seemed to calm herself, and she looked at Merlin with a curious expression. "In bygone days there were such men. Though they had the fragile forms of your kind, though they crawled on the ground like toads, they had high souls, and they dared to wrestle dragons and war with gods. Is this why Kilgharrah honours you and your father? Well, he goes too far, but I will deign to speak with you, though you may mislike my words."

A wave of relief came over Merlin, though his body was still tight as an overwound harp string. Had he calmed the dragon merely by speaking to her, without even using magic or the powers of a Dragonlord? She had gone from calling him an insect to showing willingness to converse with him. Could he keep her talking indefinitely?

The Dragon Queen now raised her head and inhaled deeply. "It is a strange thing," she said. "This whole land smells wrong. It has been so since I arrived, and it is not merely the absence of my kind. Kilgharrah tells me that Uther scattered the Druid clans who once tended the land. But where are the witches of the Isle of the Blessed? It were strange no seeress among them anticipated my coming. I had thought to see Nimueh opposing me, for she knew me of old."

"Nimueh is dead," said Merlin.

"I hear no deceit in your speech," said Nemesis. "Yet this cannot be. Killing her was beyond any human king's power."

"It was no king who killed her," said Merlin. "It was I."

The dragon was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Kilgharrah said none had trained you in the Elder Mysteries, but for a Druid woman of late."

"That is so."

"Do you know what you say, warlock? Nimueh had lived for centuries. She had undergone the Priestess' Rite, and drunk from the Cup of Life, and feasted on the apples of the Blessed Isle. No ordinary sorcerer, much less one untrained, could have killed her… For what purpose did you take her life?"

"She tried to take the lives of those closest to me."

"Then you should have let her do so! The High Priestesses were old in learning. They defied even my people's strength in the wars between men and dragons. They were long-lived, and like the Druids, they had learnt the dragons' skill of passing their memories down through the ages.

"It is an evil thing for your kind should the Isle of Avalon now stand empty. The seasons will become misplaced. The land will sicken, and the wards around your world will grow thin. There are Watchers beyond this realm who will sense that your country is defenceless. Crueller things than dragons will return to this world, all due to your folly. An ill wind blows, and in its currents all beings may be buffeted... "

"Right now," said Merlin, "it is the dragons that concern me, and no nameless others."

"So be it," said the dragon. "You wished to know what would satisfy me. Give me my _bloodgeld_ and my dominion and I will depart."

"What do you ask?"

"I will be merciful, as you have counselled. Though Uther spared but one of my people, I will take merely a tenth of his. A decimation, in the fashion of an old Palatine legion, for your kind deserted their duty to the dragons. Send one in ten men, women and children of Camelot to me to die, and I will not vex the other kingdoms. And the dragons shall take dominion over the sky and all things under it, and there shall be peace between our peoples."

"This cannot be," said Merlin. "I cannot condemn a tenth of my people to death."

"Then we are at an impasse."

"Dragon," said Merlin, "you said that in your estimation, a single dragon's egg would outweigh all the lives of Men, is that not so?"

"I did."

"So if I had given you back the life of but a single one of your people, it would be equivalent to saving the lives of all Mankind. Is my logic sound?"

The dragon's eyes narrowed. "So far as your premises stand, yes."

"Well, Dragon, you should know that I spared Kilgharrah's life when it was well within both my power and my right to kill him. Not only that… " Merlin hesitated, for he had wished to conceal Aithusa's existence from the Dragon Queen for many reasons. Yet an atmosphere of inevitable doom was pressing down on him now, and he had learnt to ignore his instincts at peril. There was something in the dragon's manner which told him that her violence was barely contained, like a dormant volcano, and that she could not divert herself from her warlike course even if her serpentine heart was softening towards him. In desperation, Merlin invoked the white dragon he wished he could forget. "Not only that, but I rescued a dragon's egg from evil men who sought to misuse it for profit. I protected the egg from those who would smash it. And… I named the little one within, calling it forth into the world, for I wished this land to resound with the voices of your kin once more…

"Therefore, it is by my actions that two of your people yet live on this island. And by your own words - which are binding among your kind - a single dragon is worth all of the human race. And so I have ransomed the lives of all humanity twice over! By this ransom I redeem the people of Camelot from the sentence you have laid against them, O Queen! I ask for one tenth of a kingdom, and in exchange I pay a blood-geld worth twice of all mankind, so consider yourself well requited in this bargain!"

There was a silence as Merlin's words hung in the air, the audacity of his argument sounding flat and feeble in his ears. Then the dragon replied.

"Art thou a barrister, manling?"

"No, Great Queen."

"Should you ever tire of polishing men's boots, a fine career among the lawgivers of your tribe awaits you... take advice from one by far thine elder, and turn thy golden tongue into golden ingots. Do you fancy yourself a saviour like unto the God of the Nazarins, that you would bargain to save all the human souls in your care? But soft, for when you bargain with death, you may be called upon to sacrifice even your own life... And unlike Orpheus, or Old One-Eye, or the Redeemer of the Nazarins, you may not be so confident of returning from the dead. For you are no god, but a man. Though you did slay a High Priestess of the Isle of Avalon, who possessed the power over life and death, so who knows what forces slumber in you, manling?"

The dragon stared at Merlin again, and it struck him with a sudden forceful irony that, as bewitching and alluring as her fiery eyes and magics were, the great beast seemed to be almost more hypnotised by Merlin than he was by her.

"What did you name the hatchling, manling?"

Merlin swallowed. "I will whisper it, for I would not summon him, and entangle him in this affair. I called him _Aithusa, _which in the Dragontongue means 'light of the day.'"

"Tell me not what it means!" said the Dragon Queen. And she looked at Merlin, and he heard a whisper in his mind.

_Pale beams of light steal into caves, warm the soil, penetrate the frost, calling them out of the Long Sleep. Thin, membrane-webbed wings open, and they take flight. The kiss of Helios is as warm on their scales as mother's breath on a hatchling. Higher and higher they soar, up where his Fire burns so strong it seems to rival their own breath. Far, far below them, the small furred creatures crawl from their burrows and run and play in his rays: a bounty for the winged hunters. Even the humans come out of their stone nests and send smoke up from their temples, aping the dragonsmoke. For they repent that they are earthbound, and can only worship the gods and the Day-Bringer from afar…_

The visions faded, leaving Merlin blinking.

"Who chose his name?" asked Nemesis.

"I did," said Merlin. "Kilgharrah said it was fitting, for a white dragon was a rare thing. He said the hatching betokened a new dawn both for his race, and for all the peoples of Albion."

"How interesting," said the Dragon Queen. "And you named him, you say, after sunlight? Well, well. Perhaps Kilgharrah thinks the winter of Albion's discontent will be made glorious summer by the rising of your own Sun, Emrys Goldentongue. But where is the hatchling now?"

Merlin tensed. "The witch Morgana, sister to Arthur Pendragon, has made the dragon her familiar."

A low, terrifying growl sounded in the throat of Nemesis. "This is what comes of leaving a Naming in the clumsy fingers of an ape. It is no surprise that a dragon named by one with such a slavish nature should itself become a slave to your race.

"And yet, much of what you say speaks well of you. It is no easy thing to hatch a dragon, even for one with far more seasons than you, and with the benefit of the inborn dragon-nature."

The dragon looked at Merlin full in the eyes, and it seemed there was sorrow in her countenance. "You have done well, and far more than Kilgharrah could have expected of you. But my people's blood is crying out to me from the ground, and there must be a judgement. This I cannot avert, not for all your eloquence and cunning arguments - and they were well-formed indeed. If you have set yourself up as your people's guardian, as I am to my own, there can be no course left open to us but conflict."

"Great Dragon," began Merlin, but the beast cut him off.

"Enough," said Nemesis. "The true wordsmith is the one who knows when speech has reached its limit. Your race lives for but the blink of an eye. Do not squander any more of your breaths on idle conversation. For when I say the time for speech is over, my ears are stopped even against tongues of gold, just as my scales are proof against tempered steel. And yet you have shown yourself no mere ox of the field, to be hunted like other men. Your tongue is forked, even as a dragon's - and it is not, as men say, that our double tongue makes us deceitful, in that each of our words has two meanings, but rather that each word we speak has twice the weight. Therefore I will treat with you more honorably than your birth merits.

"No more blood of your kind will I spill, until I have settled with you. Name your time and place, bring what champions you will, and we shall decide in the old manner, in fire and fury, how this affair shall be ended."

"If you will have it no other way," said Merlin. "What is the longest time you will allot me?"

"The moon is now dark," said the dragon. "By the time Diana shows half her white face again, you must confront me atop yonder hills, else our truce is broken."

"And the terms?"

"Bring whatever armies or allies you will, it makes no difference to me. Only be warned that I will not stay my breath against them. Any who choose to fight by your side will forfeit their lives in the trial."

"And what will you feed on til then?"

"Out of consideration to you, I will refrain from taking men, or the livestock in your wooden nests, until our trial is settled. Until then I will hunt only in the wild forest. And if any of the barons would dispute with me over the rights to the forest, let them come to me and try to enforce their rule."

The dragon opened her wings. "Until our next meeting, little warlock. Your form is tiny and misshapen, but your heart is valiant, and it courses with courage not alien to the dragons. I have only said this to one other member of your race. I wish I could have known thee better, Goldentongue. Fare thee well."

"Wait," called Merlin into the rising wind, as the dragon's wingbeats began to buffet his body, forcing him backwards. "Who was the other?"

"Some dead man," said the dragon, as she soared into the sky and flew away.

* * *

**A/N: **

In Anglo-Saxon, _ealdor _can mean "noble." Thus, when speaking Saxon to the dragon, Merlin can truthfully say he was born a commoner and an _ealdorman _at the same time. Since _ealdorman_ can mean both "nobleman" and "man from Ealdor," Merlin hasn't technically lied.

As Tolkien informs us, dragons love riddles and hate direct lying, so this type of punning is essential to those who wish to speak to dragons without revealing too much information.

(It is also interesting that the dragon makes much of being a member of an "elder" race here. Despite his youth, Merlin takes on the role of an "elder" to the dragon, rebuking her for want of maturity. At times, Merlin also ages his body, making his outward form correspond to the maturity of his wisdom. But here, it's after the dragon makes Merlin shed his physical glamour and show his youth, that he actually also reveals the depth of his wisdom. I like that _ealdor _also means "elder," because Merlin often plays the role of a mature counsellor to people and beings who should be much wiser than him. He also seems to have the power to challenge members of the Elder races, i.e. magical creatures and gods. He often has a foot in both worlds, human and magical, hence it is interesting that he uses two primary forms [maybe the dragon would say Merlin grew a doubled tongue because he lives so many double-lives, and has shed so many skins, like the dragons themselves]).


	26. Arthur's Gamble

_From an old manuscript of the Cambric Annal:_

Here followeth an account of Bleys, son of Loiz, sometime of the convent of St Bernard, and latterly a bard in the court of Arthur King of Brythons.

In the days of Arthur, _Rex Britannorum,_ such signs and wonders were seen in this island, that all men greatly feared the coming of the End Times. For dragons laid waste to the North Country, though they had not been spied in Brython for four and twenty winters. And as the Scripture hath it, _Et vidi aliam bestiam ascendentem de terra, et habebat cornua duo similia agni et loquebatur sicut draco._ That is, 'And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon.' And further, _Et fecit signa magna, ut etiam ignem faceret de caelo descendere in terram in conspectu hominum. _To wit, 'And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men."

Now good King Arthur rode up from the south, beside the Norman prince Edward. And these two lords joined their strength unto that of some Saxons and Danes, and all sallied forth against the dragon. But, woe unto thee, man which is fallen out of Eden. For death is thy lot, and sin hath come into the world. For who can doubt the everlasting fires of Perdition, when the Lord hath made such a beast as this dragon, which devoureth all things by flame? And Lo, the earth and all the soldiers upon it burned in the dragon's breath, even as the sinners in the Pit where the worm dieth not.

But King Arthur was put not to flight, and he couched his lance and charged the beast forthwith. Wherefore all men were much inspired of the king's valour, and many did ride to aid him in his enterprise. But however great was the king's heart, all would have perished in that conflagration, excepting that a wise man took the field, having the aspect of a great sorcerer. And this enchanter did shield the king from the dragon's breath, and did have conference with the beast, even as one learned in the tongues of dragons.

Whereupon the old man cast off a glamour about his person, and discovered himself to be the king's own Royal Herald, hight Merlin of Ealdor. And, disputing fiercely with the dragon, Merlin mastered the beast by his discourse, and did cause it to leave the field without wreaking aught more destruction. Wherefore all men had much marvel thereof, and some praised the Herald, while others said, 'What, be the king's servant a sorcerer? And doth he converse with evil beasts such as the dragons?'

Then the Archbishop waxed wroth, and demanded of the king that he lay against his Herald the charge of practicing sorceries and enchantments. But the king heeded him not.

* * *

For a moment after the dragon had left, the world was still. In that instant, Merlin turned and looked for Arthur. The king, standing as he was amidst carnage and ashes, surrounded by the warriors who had rallied desperately to his side, met the eyes of his Herald. He nodded, and there was much in that nod: the recognition that Merlin had always craved but seldom received, pride, and the understanding that whatever the consequences that followed, they would bear them together.

They did not have to wait long.

Merlin began to walk towards the king, and he felt a rush of giddiness. Every step he took seemed to carry a great weight. The grass and soil under his feet felt more vibrant, as though he were connected to some great power in the earth. The veil of secrecy had been thrown off from him, and now he was exposed before all. He should feel vulnerable, and yet, despite not casting a single spell, there was power thrumming in his blood, and he felt wild and elated, almost drunk.

He looked for injured men to tend, but the dragon's breath had left no survivors. The ashes of the slain drifted softly across the field, and flew skyward, like an inverse rain, like the Earth shedding tears. This was all that remained of so many gallant warriors.

_Dust you are, and to dust you shall return. _

_The Old Religion, _the dragon's voice seemed to say, _the High Priestess, the Druids. Those with the power over life and death. You hold that power, Emrys. _He still felt her whispering in his head. The touch of her mind resounded in him yet, firing unknown sensations.

The people on the field, too, looked at him differently as he drew near. Many of the Cambricmen, and some of the Normans and Saxons, took the knee, as before a lord, and many crossed their brows and bosoms, as though in the presence of a great cleric. But others looked frightened, and cowered away from him.

He was glad that Arthur did not bow, or flinch away.

"Merlin," said the king. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise, sire," Merlin replied.

"And the dragon?"

"She has agreed to a truce. We must challenge her to combat two weeks hence. _I _must challenge her."

Arthur looked at Merlin with awe. "I can't believe you drove her away, Merlin. She was like nothing I've ever encountered before. The touch of her mind… how can mortals stand up to power like that? What _are _you, that you could speak to her as an equal?"

"I'm your servant, Arthur."

"You're something more. You always have been."

"I'm not the dragon's equal. Not yet. I need to speak with the Druids… I only pray two weeks is enough to learn what the Dragonlords once knew."

"If there's anything left, after we destroyed their teachings senselessly," said Arthur.

"The Old Religion can't be destroyed, Arthur. Any more than life or death itself."

"But we came close enough. Too close. Maybe this is why you were sent into my service, Merlin. To help me restore what we took away… "

All of a sudden, a commotion occurred. The Archbishop of Camelot was pushing his way through the crowd, a gaggle of worried priests following at his heels.

"Sire!" he exclaimed, his voice shaking, as he raised a trembling finger to point at Merlin. "Sire! Come away from this worker of enchantments! Knights! Men-at-arms! Restrain the sorcerer! Protect the king!"

Some of the knights stirred, but most remained still, looking from the priest to King Arthur.

"Hold," said Arthur. "I am in no danger. We are _all _delivered from danger, thanks to my Herald. That any of us remain living is due to his intervention. Mend your speech, Archbishop."

"Mend my speech?" replied the Archbishop incredulously. "Have you all been struck blind? Did we not all see the king's closest servant and confidant reveal himself an enchanter?"

"We all saw him," said Arthur, "saving our lives."

"Sire!" breathed the Archbishop. "You know nothing of this sorcerer's motivations! You know not how subtle the snares are which the Enemy has laid for you! All this time, even as your father hunted sorcerers to safeguard you and your murderous sister… all this time, he nursed a viper in the very bosom of his household! God have mercy! How the Adversary has blinded us, making us chase after High Priestesses and Druids, even as his disciple walked among us in sheep's clothing!

"All this time he has witnessed our councils. He has dripped venom in our ears. He has tenderly bathed you and clothed you and nurtured you like a very brother! He has bided his time, for the Enemy is patient. What is a decade to an Angel that lives for aeons?"

"Archbishop," said Arthur coldly. "Enough. Merlin has my complete trust. And had you any decency, he would have your gratitude for saving all of our lives."

There was a pause while Archbishop De Croismere considered this. His expressive dark eyebrows contracted, and his handsome face worked as if he were possessed by a spirit of fury.

"You knew," the Archbishop said. "_Pardieu!_ You knew your own bosom companion was a sorcerer! For how long? And what does it matter? Why should I expect your answer to be sensible? For surely the reason this idiot boy was able to insinuate himself within the royal household is that his Master gives him influence over the minds of men! Surely the Deceiver set that witch Mary Collins to make an attempt on your life, for the sole purpose of his servant appearing to save you! Without doubt the Fiend had the ear of your father on that day, when this abomination was welcomed into your service!"

"Have a care, Archbishop," said Arthur. "I will hear no more slander against Merlin. Go to."

"The king is not in his right mind," said the Archbishop, turning away. "Prince Edward! Earl Gallien! There are statutes against sorcery in your kingdom, are there not? As my own lord is incapacitated, I charge you to seize this miscreant!"

Earl Gallien looked to Prince Edward, who had a grave look on his habitually smiling, handsome face. His sister was ahorse beside him, her blonde tresses wildly dishevelled, her face smeared with sweat and ashes. "It would be an affront to justice," the prince said at last, "to despoil the security of a person who had braved hellfire itself to save us. Rather than censure, the Herald of Camelot deserves commendation and honours."

The Archbishop, by custom a reasonable enough man, became increasingly desperate as he saw he had no allies among the crowd. "What, will no one do their duty to the laws of Man and God? The Scripture is clear! _Maleficos non patieris vivere._ Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!"

Bishop Rhodri now stood forward, his blonde curls blowing in the wind, exhaustion on his pale, drawn visage. "It pains me to disagree with you, Your Grace, but the Scripture is far from clear on this point. It was no accident that Blessed St Jerome chose to render the Avramite word _chasaph _as _veneficus, _or even _maleficus, _in the Vulgate. Scholars opine it can just as easily mean poisoner as enchanter, and I cannot believe it applies to all men now termed sorcerers."

"What, Rhodri?" growled the Archbishop. "Why am I unsurprised to see you coming forward to defend the warlock? Do you now twist the words of Holy Writ to preach the acceptance of witchcraft? Was there ever an unrighteous cause you didn't love?"

"Your Grace," said Rhodri, "to object to the torture of an innocent man was never unrighteous. If the Saviour taught us to see His face in the persecuted and oppressed-"

"Do not compare yourself to our Redeemer," said the Archbishop. "Be silent! Did you not swear a vow of obedience? Did you learn nothing in your convent except how to dabble in proscribed arts, and plead the causes of pagans and necromancers?"

"I swore," said Rhodri, "an oath of obedience to the Successor of the Prince of Apostles, and not to you, Your Grace."

"I am the anointed representative of Holy Pontifex in Camelot!"

"We are not in Camelot now, neither do you technically outrank me! Your Grace."

The Archbishop's face clouded. "I had wondered why the king should sponsor such a youthful and wayward priest as yourself. Surely the influence of the Enemy was upon him through his manservant. For I see now that you are far more dangerous than the King's Herald. That Merlin is merely imperilling his own soul, and perhaps the king's, perhaps even those of the entire kingdom of Camelot. But you - you would destroy the fabric of Holy Writ, and preach a heresy that would see Holy Church give its stamp of approval to all sorts of Demonology and Idolatry! You threaten the faith itself! What, am I surrounded by the slaves of the Serpent?"

"Your Grace," said Rhodri, "if every man with a different opinion to yourself is a bond-slave of Satan, you would have to build a pyre as large as this island to punish us all. In which case, it may have saved time to let the dragon burn us all, and spare yourself and Holy Church the trouble."

Archbishop De Croismere looked disgusted with Rhodri, and drew away. "Enough. Since you are all either cowards, or defective in your consciences, I will take the sorcerer into my own custody." He made as if to move towards Merlin, but Arthur stepped in front of him.

"You will do no such thing," the King of Camelot said. "Merlin is _my _subject, _my _servant, and my friend. I will not have him transferred to your jurisdiction. If you have a complaint against him, you will come to me. Until then, if you lay hands on him..." Arthur left the sentence unfinished.

"I swore an oath," said the Archbishop, "to your father. Do you know what we meant to each other? Do you know how much he sacrificed, how much it cost him, to realise his vision? The kingdom we were to build… it must come to pass! And now that he has died by a sorcerer's hand, it is left to me to defend his legacy. I alone remain of all his old counsellors. I cannot allow you to throw away what he built, Arthur, especially if this sorcerer has enthralled you... "

Pain came into Arthur's face at the mention of Uther, and he faltered. But then he said, "What my father built is a kingdom where a Pendragon rules. Were I to flout my own judgement in deference to yours, were I to give a subject due my protection into your custody, _then _I would be betraying his legacy. My Herald will not be menaced by you. Go back to Camelot, Archbishop. You are no longer needed here. Tend to your flock."

"_You _are my flock, Arthur," said De Croismere desperately, reaching for the king with trembling, supplicating hands. "More than any other soul in Camelot. Your father gave you and your sister into my keeping. You were the most precious things to him. I could not save Morgana from the devouring she-wolf, from the fruits of her father's sin. I failed Uther. If I could only keep you safe… I made him a promise! Do not make me an oathbreaker again."

"Raimund," said Arthur compassionately, taking the Archbishop's hands. "Your sense of failure is between you and my father. Whatever unreasonable oaths you swore to him are also betwixt you both. I will not sacrifice Merlin to salve your own guilty conscience. My father is in the communion of the saints, now, and he will regard any broken vow of yours with mercy. Go back to Camelot. Go and pray for my father, as he must be praying for you. But you will not touch my Herald, in Uther's name, or anyone else's."

The Archbishop pulled his hands away and drew back, his eyes hardening. "This is a grave mistake," he said. "You are setting yourself against God. Greater kings than you have fallen to His judgement. And when His sword is unsheathed against Camelot, it will be your people who suffer."

"When suffering comes for my people," said Arthur loudly, "they know that I will put my own body between them and peril, as they see me do now for Merlin. Go back to Camelot."

"Very well," said the Archbishop. "I depart." He turned and addressed the crowd. "Know you all that the Holy City will hear of this! I have no choice but to write to Holy Father and inform him that the King of Camelot has ignored the counsel of his Archbishop! When I catalogue the sins of this Pendragon, which eclipse even his licentious father's, King Arthur will surely be denied the Sacrament of the Eucharist! Further, if he persists in sheltering sorcerers, and refuses to repent, he may not be reconciled with Mother Church!

"All those here who have not stirred do their religious duty, thinking themselves above the laws of God, stand in danger of being found guilty of collusion! For the Church can no longer give her consent to this expedition, as it is now _de facto _led by a sorcerer! Let anyone who fears God and knows the value of obedience depart with me!"

Murmurs of discontent and worry echoed through the crowd. Many of the knights and nobles exchanged glances of fear, for excommunication could lead to their properties being confiscated and their families' reputations being ruined. No marriage of theirs could be contracted in a church, and therefore alliances vital to protecting their households and gaining influence would be stripped away from them. To be shunned socially would lead to the destruction of their livelihoods.

Earl Broderick said, "This is a heavy act, sire. It will break up our coalition. Men will part from you rather than ride with one attainted of sorcery by Mother Church."

"And what of you, Broderick?"

"I have sworn an oath of fealty to you, sire. And yet, I have sons and a daughter, as yet unmarried. Should the head of their House be excommunicated… command me to ride elsewhere to serve you. Were it up to me alone, I would follow… "

"Do as your conscience wills. I cannot ask less of you than I do of myself."

The earl said softly, "Is this truly worth it, sire? Casting away the regard of church, barons and princes? All this for one herald, a boy of common birth, and an approved witch?"

"He is more than that to me," said Arthur, equally softly. "He's more than any of you know to me."

"How extraordinary," said the earl. "I pray the Archbishop is wrong, and you are not bewitched. For it is beautiful to see that such friendships exist even in our unfaithful age. And yet, such unions are not earthly things. In this world they do not endure long, but ever end in tragedy. Perhaps we lesser mortals are not privileged to witness such bonds until the Hereafter, and only glimpse flashes of such companionship in the meantime, which shine as brightly and briefly as the lightning-strike." And he turned his massive war-horse and rode away.

Seeing the earl depart, Prince Edward nudged his horse a bit closer, and said, "Well, well. How precarious is the state of princes. See how the most devoted followers fall away."

Arthur said, "Yet you're still here. Are you not afraid of excommunication?"

Prince Edward laughed heartily, his dark locks shaking. "_Excommunication_? Me? _Digne cousin, _my virtuous mother built half the cathedrals and monasteries in Brython, Flanders and Aquitaine out of her own purse. My warlike brother, King Richard, has slain a thousand Saracens by his own hand, and he alone saved the Church from total defeat in Palestine. Do you think any priest dares to so much as give me a _Pater Noster _after confession without my family's permission? _Excommunication? _When half the fat bishops and cardinals in the Holy City tremble if my brother so much as frowns in their direction? I fear no man, should he wear chainmail or cassock.

"Not all my earls and followers will be so bold, however. They do not have such high rank to protect them. You are a bold man, Arthur. None can fault your resolution, or your personal sense of justice. I myself am interested to see how events shall unfold." He suddenly wrinkled his brow, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "My mother does command much influence with the Church. I suppose I could write to her and ask her to intercede on your behalf… "

Arthur turned and looked at Edward, mistrusting his smiling, clever face. "You sound doubtful."

"Well, there is a small difficulty. I was sent by my brother to expand his territories, and subdue his enemies. _You _are one of those enemies. Should you be shunned by the Church, you would certainly lose influence. It would weaken your political power significantly. We might even be given a divine mandate to make war upon your borders, and despoil you of your wealth. I can hardly ask my mother to intervene on behalf of one of her son's enemies… "

"But?" said Arthur, who saw where this was going.

"On the other hand, intervening on behalf of a son-in-law would be her _duty."_

Arthur's eyes flickered to Princess Marguerite's countenance, and for the first time, the Norman princess spoke directly to him.

"I followed your charge against the dragon," she said. "Few men in chainmail can ride faster than me. Fewer still would have ridden straight into a dragon's breath to draw fire from his followers. You are as gallant as the tales say." She favoured Arthur with a rare smile, which transformed her begrimed face into a beacon of loveliness, before turning her steed and cantering away.

Prince Edward bowed his head, displaying his own slightly ironic smile, which unlike his sister's, was bestowed on all and sundry, and took off after her.

* * *

"Do you have to leave me, Merlin?" Arthur said.

They stood on a high hill overlooking the open field where Arthur's court had made camp, not wanting to impose upon the hospitality of Earl Gallien. Prince Edward could have forced one of his vassals to provide accommodation, but Arthur did not wish to breed resentment, and he felt more comfortable surrounded by only his own people - those who were left. Earl Broderick and his warriors had ridden away, escorting the Archbishop back to Camelot. Queen Annis had remained, as had almost all of Arthur's personal knights. Even the few who had departed, Arthur knew, had done so out of fear of the repercussions for their families. Individually, Arthur's men trusted him with their lives.

The Norman princes and Earl Gallien had retired to the earl's castle, taking with them the Saxons and Danes. Soon, Arthur supposed, these forces would be reduced in number. Some men still spoke of making forays against the dragons, and others would remain to buttress their defences in case Merlin failed. But after witnessing the dragon's wrath, and seeing that Merlin alone had walked away from her unscathed, most seemed to trust that the warlock was their best hope, and that their lives were not worth squandering if Merlin could spare them the danger.

_They will profit from Merlin risking his life, _thought Arthur, _even while shunning him out of fear of the social consequences. And when all this is over, and Merlin has defeated the dragon, they will happily stand aside and let him be punished by those who should be thanking him._

Apart from the Norman princes, there was one other group who did not seem intimidated by association with Arthur. The leader of the Danes, with a couple of his men, had visited Arthur's camp, and were seen to be observing everything with great interest. Arthur had seen the largest Dane watching him intently, though he had not had time to converse with the man, or to thank him for saving his life on the battlefield. The Dane was a little way off even now, wrapped in a thin mantle. He had apparently followed Arthur from the camp, but his two companions were no longer with him.

"You know I wouldn't go unless I had to, Arthur," Merlin said in reply. He, Finna, and Elyan stood before three swift horses, all dressed in travelling cloaks. "This dragon is greater than anything I have faced before. I need to know more of the dragonlore. The Druids are guardians of the Earth. The High Priestesses rule the element of Water. But the dragons are creatures of Air and Fire, and their magic is subtly different, and only the Dragonlords of old knew how to subdue them. I'm the only one who can do this, now. Finna will show me the way. But you aren't a Druid… "

"Elyan isn't a Druid," Arthur said.

"But he is Druid-touched," said Finna. "As I think you remember, Arthur? He may accompany us where you may not. Where we are going, the dead are restless, and we need their goodwill. And there are many Druid souls which were parted from their bodies by your own blade, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur looked guilty, and Merlin hastened to add, "Besides, you are needed here. To uphold the honour of Camelot. To show that we are not running from the dragon, but merely preparing to fight it. And if any of these princes or churchmen seek to use this dragon for their own gain, only you can oppose them.

"Just… promise me something, Arthur. No matter what foolish expeditions others mount, do not go against the dragon queen yourself. She gave me her word she would not harm a human unless provoked. And you and your father have done a lot to provoke her. She bears you a very heavy grudge. Promise me you won't do anything rash and give her pretext to break her peace."

"Merlin, as you so tactfully brought up, my father and I are responsible for this dragon being here. All those men on the field who perished in her breath, while I walked away… "

"You won't bring them back by doing something stupid, Arthur. Promise me."

"I can't, Merlin. Kings aren't good at taking instructions."

"Arthur! How am I supposed to focus on my mission when I'm worried about what you might be doing here?"

"Now you know how it felt trying to keep you out of trouble. You don't like people encroaching on your territory, do you? Now you know how princes feel when their magical manservants get themselves tangled up in their affairs. Just go, Merlin."

Arthur patted Merlin on the shoulder, then thought better of it, and pulled him into an embrace. "May God speed you," Arthur said. "Come back swiftly, not as my herald, but as my own enchanter. The time for secrecy is over. You must step into your destiny soon, before my whole court."

Arthur released Merlin, hugged Elyan as well, and then formally bowed to Finna. "Keep him safe, you two," he said.

When Merlin had receded into the distance, Arthur turned to go back to camp, and saw that the Dane had approached swiftly in the meantime.

"Arthur Pendragon?" said the gigantic blond man. "I would speak with you alone." He rolled his r's curiously, with a liquid sound, which Arthur had heard among Saxons and Brythons in the country on the eastern borders of Camelot.

"It's all right," Arthur said to his knights. "I owe this man my life. Await me on the edge of camp."

When they were alone, the man approached Arthur and said, "Well met, King of Brythons. Your valour sets you above these other trembling Southmen. I wonder if some king of your line took a Vyking maiden to wife. Even your hair is unusually gold for men of your province. When I first saw you, I thought, this man's locks and brow are so fair, is this Baldur himself reborn? And when you rode straight for the jaws of the dragon, I thought, this is no coward Southman, but a half-Dane, a foundling from the North, raised by these Brythons, like a wolf pup raised among hounds."

"Praise from a warrior such as yourself is always gratifying," said Arthur. "But I know you didn't trail me all day just to flatter me."

"Arthur Half-Dane," said the giant man, "my name is Holgier. I, and the men I came south with, are no ordinary warriors. I can see that you are no ordinary fighter, either. You are a man of honour. This dragon's terror touches your honour. You feel responsible for it, and for that purpose, you would put your life on the line. I would not see you throw your life away senselessly. But what if I told you that your wizard friend is not the only one who has the power to withstand dragons? What if I told you there were living warriors who had killed dragons and walked away?"

"I… I would call you a liar. Except I saw you on the battlefield. Your shield was immune to the dragonfire. How is that possible? What is it made of?"

"That," said Holgier, "is a secret, Arthur Fairhair. A secret no Southman has ever been acquainted with. Would you learn it?"

"What are you asking for in exchange?" said Arthur warily.

The Dane seemed to grow offended, or angered. "I? I ask nothing in exchange. There is only one who has the right to demand payment of such a warrior. What he will demand of you is a terrible price, and I would not offer to show you his way unless I had seen the strength in you to make such payment."

"I don't understand what you mean," said Arthur.

"Tell me. Have you heard the word _berserker?"_

"I've heard the stories," said Arthur. "In the age of heroes, there were terrible warriors from the North, who felt no pain, who fought like wolves, and could take the shape of bears. Children's fables, really."

"Well, Arthur Sun-Hair," said Holgier. "If you are tired of children's fables, and would hear the words of men - men who have slain dragons, who have tasted the ale of the gods, and seen the feasting hall of Odin with their own eyes - then come with me. But tarry not, for you will never be offered this chance again. And remember: a warrior gains nothing without fighting for his life."

The gigantic Dane turned, and began to move away with astounding swiftness and silence for a man of his stature.

After a few moments, Arthur drew his cloak around him tightly, and began to run after the Norseman.

* * *

**A/N: **

Thank you everyone for your very kind reviews of the last chapter. And mersan123, Gingeraffealene, Iphigenia and Padre Pedro, you always leave such regular reviews and praise the story so highly, that I'm not 100% sure I deserve it. But it's very encouraging, and trying to live up to your high praise keeps me motivated. Thank you!

**Iphigenia:**

Thanks for asking your question about a phrase I used, "winter of our discontent." It actually comes from one of Shakespeare's history plays, which must be where the author you mentioned got it from. I'm glad you brought this up, because it has a nice connection to Arthurian legend.

_Richard III_ is the play about the end of the Wars of the Roses. The two English noble houses at war, Lancaster and York, were cadet branches of the Plantagenet dynasty (the Plantagenets were descended from the French-speaking Angevins and Normans who ruled England, and who are represented in this fanfic). Richard III was defeated by Henry Tudor, who had both French/Norman and Welsh ancestry, and Henry became the first Tudor king. Henry used the Welsh dragon as part of his royal flag after his coronation, and even claimed to be descended from the last king of Wales (though that was pretty common for any vaguely noble Welsh family at the time).

Much later, Edmund Spenser wrote an epic poem called _The Faerie Queen, _which is one of the longest poems in the English language. Spenser drew heavily on Arthuriana and chivalric romances. Part of his intention is to glorify the English royal line, especially Queen Elizabeth I. Spenser makes Elizabeth a descendant of King Arthur, through her Tudor descent from the Welsh King Henry Tudor! He also has Merlin prophesise the future birth of Elizabeth, a Virgin Queene (!). I haven't read the whole poem (it's extremely long, in archaic language, and dense with extreme allegory), but if you're interested in poetry, Arthurian lore or the English language in general, I'd recommend checking it out.

By the way it would be interesting to draw a comparison between Richard of York and Morgana, in that Richard murders one of his brothers and welcomes the death of the second so he can take the throne. The famous, ominous lines that open the play have Richard praising his brother the king, whom everyone loves, and who has ended the civil war:

"Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this son of York;

And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried."


	27. The Spear-Danes

_Annar sonur Óðins er Baldur, og er frá honum gott að segja. Hann er svá fagr álitum ok bjartr svá at lýsir af honum, ok eitt gras er svá hvítt at jafnat er til Baldrs brár. Þat er allra grasa hvítast, ok þar eptir máttu marka fegrð hans bæði á hár og á líki. Hann er vitrastr ása ok fegrst talaðr ok líknsamastr._

The second son of Odin is Baldr, and good things are to be said of him. He is best, and all praise him; he is so fair of feature, and so bright, that light shines from him. A certain herb is so white that it is likened to Baldr's brow; of all grasses it is whitest, and by it thou mayest judge his fairness, both in hair and in body. He is the wisest of the Æsir, and the fairest-spoken and most gracious…

\- Snorri Sturluson, _Gylfaginning, _c. 1200 AD. English translation by Brodeur.

* * *

"And therefore [art thou] Arthur's sister?" asked the King.

And then the Queen made answer, "What know I?  
For dark my mother was in eyes and hair,  
And dark in hair and eyes am I; and dark  
Was Gorloïs, yea and dark was Uther too,  
Wellnigh to blackness; but this King is fair  
Beyond the race of Britons and of men…"

\- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, _The Coming of Arthur, _1859-85.

* * *

As darkness fell, Arthur shivered in his cloak and pulled the fabric tighter about him. Holgier and his men did not seem to mind the cold at all.

They were in a clearing, seven of them in total. The biting smell of sap was in Arthur's nostrils, and the closeness of the forest unnerved him, for he remembered that the Druids held mastery here. A little distance away he could hear the burbling of a creek, as well as the cries of birds. Was it his imagination, or had the beasts of these woods become bolder after Merlin had sent the dragon away?

They had been walking for hours. Arthur had removed his chainmail and was now almost as lightly clad as his companions, but he must have less endurance than them. His bones were weary. Had he been relying on riding too much? He did hunt on foot occasionally, but the Danes had the look of men who could run all day and night. A chevalier like Arthur was not _supposed _to go on foot - the whole rank and grandeur of the highborn lay in their skill on horseback - but there were places horses could not ride freely. Places like this dense forest, where the Danes would have every advantage over Arthur's knights.

"We should be cautious," Arthur said. "Merlin asked the dragon to avoid men. But she will take prey from the woods. We should avoid encountering her if possible. Best to return to camp, or to Earl Gallien's castle."

"The forest," said Holgier, "is the home of hunters. We belong here as much as the dragon does. And she has as much chance of becoming our prey as we hers."

Holgier was almost as tall as Percival, and even broader. His long, braided hair, though presently tied back, added to his bulk when it was left loose, falling around his shoulders like a cape. He had surprisingly large blue eyes, and his strong jaw was accentuated by a carefully groomed beard. He would have been comely, Arthur supposed, if he didn't cut such an outlandish figure.

Like all of his men, Holgier was lightly armoured. The Danes carried sturdier equipment in their packs, but each of them wore linen tunics, as huntsmen or bandits, and there did not seem to be leather armour under their clothes. Arthur wondered how they dared to stray so far from their camps. All Brythons knew and feared the prowess of the northern warriors, who had overwhelmed whole villages and fortresses since the time of the ancient kings. But surely an all-out offensive was no substitute for self-protection. How would the Danes fare against a knight in full plate armour?

Unless these Danes thought they didn't _need _armour. Arthur remembered Holgier saying that his men were no ordinary warriors. He had mentioned the word _berserker. _In the tales, the berserkers were impervious to steel weapons and fire. Some of them even went into battle naked to terrify the enemy, like Arthur's ancient ancestors among the Brythons.

Arthur's disposition was not of the kind that lent credence to fairy tales. True, he had seen incredible feats of magic, and he no longer doubted that sorcerers were capable of anything. A mere warrior, however, was a different animal. Arthur understood swordplay in a way he didn't understand sorcery. There was no mystery, no existential terror for him in a fellow fighter, regardless of how dreadful his reputation. He had gone up against too many men from too many nations to be unnerved by their skills.

And yet, in this gloomy wood, surrounded by strangers, with the memory of the dragon fresh in his mind, he felt fear skitting around the edges of his heart.

Why was he here?

_Holgier could have let me die when we faced the dragon. He can mean me no harm. There was no benefit to him in saving my life only to bring me out here to injure me._

Unless…

Arthur remembered the battle stories his father had used to terrify him with as a child. Before the Vykings had accepted the grace of the Redeemer, they had followed harsher gods, who had demanded of them great sacrifices. Sometimes those sacrifices were slaves, or prisoners taken in raids. They had suspended these hapless people on trees, and crucified them, as the Palatine Empire had done to its most heinous criminals. Even the Palatines, however, might have blushed at the grisliness of the Vyking blood offerings.

Uther had said that on special occasions, such as before a great battle, the Vykings would pour out a special oblation to their gods. The blood of princes and kings was deemed of high value…

Arthur told himself his chills were caused merely by the rising night winds.

"You still haven't explained," said Arthur, "what we're doing out here. Or what you meant to show me."

"You have many questions, Pendragon," said Holgier. "Yet you are entitled to ask them."

"Why are you still here, Master Holgier? You saw my Herald face down the dragon. None else could stand against her. Surely this creature is a problem for our people. You have no obligation to remain. Why risk your lives?"

Holgier looked scornful. "Do you think we came to this island merely for trinkets? Had we wanted the wealth of your Earl Gallien, we could have taken it in the old way. We did not need to become his errand boys."

"But you took the contract."

"We agreed to fight the dragon. The earl's payment is mere formality. The real reward is the dragon herself."

Arthur shook his head. "I don't understand."

"You heard the dragon speak. Prior to that, what did you think she was? A mindless beast? A force of destruction? From the outside, perhaps, that is all she appears. But once you begin to see the world as she does, you understand she has a deeper purpose.

"Dragons are like men. They have many ends. Some, like this queen, exist to hunt, to crush, to slay. We, too, have a deeper purpose. We are hunters also. We challenge the dominion of the elder beasts over men. And those of us who are with breath still, are so because we were victorious."

"So," said Arthur, "you would continue hunting this dragon, just for the sake of it?"

"You sound surprised," said Holgier. "The hunt is no idle thing, no amusing diversion. It is the life's work of the warrior. Men are divided into two kinds: hunters and prey. In this, our ancestors were of one heart. You southerners understand that hunting is what elevates a man to the rank of nobility. You have dressed up the brutality of this law, adding pageantry, and polite manners, and games of courtesy to your hunts and jousts. But you jealously guard the hunt and the arms of chivalry from the peasants, because you remember that hunting and warfare are the essence of lordship..."

Arthur could not deny the truth in what Holgier said. The laws of chivalry were now extravagant and decadent. Combat and hunting in Brython had evolved from their primitive state into something highly ritualised and regulated, which no Brythonic warrior of old would recognise. A knight was supposed to be courteous as well as a killer, and motivated by higher and gentler ideals than thirst for combat. When he met fellow knights there were rules and witnesses, designed to take the murderous edge off the unfortunately necessary custom of warfare. So, too, had hunting transformed into a spectacle, an occasion for merriment and feasts and revelry, something that pages and noblewomen played at.

But essentially, the customs of the warlike Danes and the knights of Camelot were the same, even if the Danes clung to the older and purer way. Could Arthur call these men foolhardy for wanting to pit their lives against a dragon, when the knights of Camelot were expected to prove themselves in quests and adventures equally dangerous? Was wanting to hunt a dragon to prove one's worth any different from what Uther had done, or Arthur himself had undertaken in his quest to the Perilous Lands?

"The dragon moved me," said Arthur. "I saw beauty in her, beauty my father never saw. I would not repeat his errors."

"It would be a mistake to think all dragons evil," said Holgier. "It would also be a mistake to refuse to fight any of them, even those who are pledged to destroy you. Dragons are creatures of domination. They duelled each other frequently, in the old days. They consider some men worthy of the challenge of duelling, also… This Dragon Queen knows our kind of old, for her people, if they can be said to feel fear, fear Northmen alone among the race of Men."

"But the dragon has agreed to a truce for Merlin's sake. If we break it, we could jeopardise his mission."

"If you slay the dragon first, his mission will be unnecessary. Wouldn't that be more fitting?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know that I want to kill her. My family has enough dragon's blood on its hands."

"Arthur Utherson," said Holgier. "We mean to challenge this dragon, before your Herald returns. We have certain… skills, which I am willing to share with you. Without these, you will never stand against a dragon. If you take this opportunity, you may subdue the dragon without killing her. You may even, if you are half the warrior I think you are, subdue one of us. In which case, you could challenge us for the right to dispense with the dragon as you wish.

"What is the alternative? To walk away? To let us slay this beast ourselves, and have everyone believe the King of Camelot so impotent, that he must let strangers from the north repair his mistakes? Magic attracts magic, Arthur Utherson. There are greater beasts than the dragon, and they are coming to this island, now that magic is returning. What will you do against them? Rely on your magician to fix everything for you? Then why be king? Surrender the crown to him.

"Your wizard knows his art requires understanding. He knows to go to the Druids, and dragons, and High Priestesses, to augment his power. Do you know your arts, Arthur Pendragon? Have you learnt all there is to know of the ways of war? Will you scorn to learn from us Northmen? Or are you, too, ready to learn?"

Arthur, his fingers interlaced, had been staring at the ground. Now he raised his head, and looked Holgier full in the face.

"What would you have me do? What could you teach me in two weeks? What could possibly increase my strength so much that I could stand against a dragon in that time?"

Holgier looked satisfied, and his eyes flickered towards the other Danes, as if they had all been waiting for this.

"It is not what we shall teach you, Arthur," said Holgier, "but what you shall learn yourself. We do not have time to make you one of us fully. But some of the customs must be observed. That you have courage, none of us doubt. Even in the North we have heard of your strength of arms. But there must be a proving. Gunnar!"

Gunnar came forward, swung a pack from off his back, and began to fiddle with it. He was around Arthur's age and of similar height, narrower in the shoulders, but well-muscled, and with a lean, hard look. The sharp angles of his face lent a sinister air to what would otherwise have been a pleasant countenance. He had soft brown eyes and his fawn hair was shorter than Holgier's, with less elaborate plaits in it. He also wore fewer rings on his fingers.

_I wonder, _thought Arthur, _if he has killed fewer men than Holgier. Maybe he wants me to be the next braid in his hair, or the next ring on his finger. Wouldn't that be a prize, a dragon ring from a fallen Pendragon monarch to thread through this youthful warrior's locks. Holgier said a hunter must prove himself, and killing me would also be slaying a dragon, after a kind._

Other men came forward now, and laid their own burdens on the ground, at the side of the clearing. Arthur saw the gleam of weapons, and an array of shields.

_Not so unarmoured as I thought, _he reflected.

"Are you challenging me to a duel?" Arthur said.

"Yes," said Holgier. "But do not expect me to pluck a silk glove from my hand and throw it at your feet like a womanly southerner. Gunnar has laid out the arms for you. As our guest, the choice of weapons will be yours."

Arthur glanced towards his own belongings, but Holgier shook his head.

"No mail," he said. "No body armour. You and Gunnar will fight as you are."

"That's hardly a fair contest," said Arthur. "I wasn't prepared for this. Your men are skilled at fighting with light arms. You know that I'm a knight. I train in plate armour, or chainmail, or on horseback. I don't usually duel in anything less than mail.

"If I challenged one of you Northmen to a joust on horseback, I would knock you out of your saddles each time, but it wouldn't be a true demonstration of your skill. There would be no honour in it."

"On the contrary," said Holgier. "There is always honour in seeing a man as he truly stands, with all the instruments he has come to rely on stripped away. I know you are accustomed to fighting in suits of steel, and striking from the backs of horses. You southerners love your horses more than your wives. But what are you, Arthur Pendragon, when your armour and lance are taken away? What makes you a king? The silks and jewels you wear, which are so rich they would make a Danish maid blush? Or does something of the warrior's heart beat in you still, even out of its iron cage?

"How boldly you ran towards that dragon, even knowing it was certain death. Was that courage inspired by your horse, or your ringmail, or the men around you? Was none of it native to your own heart? Will you cower before a boy like Gunnar, after facing down a Dragon Queen?

"It were better you were not prepared for this duel. Our greatest trials come upon us without warning, and a warrior must be ever ready to meet death, however suddenly it springs."

Arthur knew that Holgier was goading him with his words, for he did the same thing with his own knights. Yet despite this, he let himself rise to the taunt. The truth was that part of him did miss the simplicity of his life before kingship. He had always been somewhat constrained by his role as prince, but when Uther had lived, the older Pendragon had taken on the lion's share of governance, leaving Arthur to his role as the First Knight.

Long nights had King Arthur spent poring over parchments, listening to the droning of grey haired ministers, judging disputes over the boundaries of some estate or another. He tried to restrain his youthful impulses by practicing the wisdom and patience the people needed in a king. He had inherited a world of injustices and tangled allegiances from his father, and the problems facing the crown were so complex that a king could not act directly, relying instead upon the tedious machinery of the state bureaucracy.

He had never sat comfortably on the throne. He was a knight, not a politician. And he saw the rise of magic, and the threats of enemy sorcerers, as portending something grave for Camelot that he could not engage with directly. For in a world where men were as powerful as Merlin or Morgana, what use were knights? Weren't his skills obsolete? What was his role to be then, to sit in his castle beside Rhodri like an aged nun, telling his beads, wringing his hands over his father's crimes, and confessing his own sins? Was he to be a ceremonial ruler, who stamped parchments and presided over feasts, while Merlin, and Morgana, and the dragons, fought magical battles for supremacy over Brython?

The encounter with the Dragon Queen had shaken him more than he had realised. He had come closer to death than he had in many months, apart from the encounter with the Druid boy in the forest. It was the manner of the encounter with the dragon which had upset him. Death in battle he could face, for at least against a knight, or an opposing army, he understood the terms, and there was some manner of sense to the combat. Death from the Dragon Queen was as irresistible and meaningless as death by earthquake, or pestilence. She rendered warriors' arts obsolete, and those arts were the cornerstone of Arthur's world. There was no resistance to this new magical enemy. He felt powerless, like the universe was slipping further and further from his grasp.

But the Danes? He understood them. Wild though they were, they were distant kin to the knights of Camelot. And now they offered Arthur a return to a world he understood, a world that might be brutal and dangerous, but which gave a warrior some chance to take his destiny into his own hands. God, how good that would be, after years of sorceries, and politics, and magical beasts he couldn't grasp, to stand in an arena governed by a warrior's rules, even for a moment.

It was neither wise nor politic to wager a king's body in combat like this. Yet what did wisdom and policy mean in a world that was increasingly turning upside down? Perhaps this was a childish act of rebellion, but Arthur wanted to feel in control of his destiny again, even to the point of wagering his life, away from the restraints of his court, away from his duty to his people.

Arthur stepped up, and began looking over the equipment laid out on the ground. The shields were much the same as each other, varying mostly in size, and he took one up and hefted it in his left hand. The shield was circular, and had a metal boss in its centre, to which the handle was attached. The surface was covered in hardened leather, stretched over a wooden body, probably ash. Arthur had chosen one large enough that when he held it in position, its upper edge protected his neck, and the lower extended almost to his mid-thigh. He was more used to the knights' shields, which commonly had a flat upper edge, and tapered downwards, coming to a point. These round ones had a different balance, yet another disadvantage to him.

He then looked over the arms. Holgier had said the choice would be his, which implied that Gunnar would match whatever Arthur took up. Arthur passed over the war-axes, which he seldom used. The spears were smaller than he was accustomed to, and they were not his favoured weapon at close quarters. That left the swords.

He chose one which had suitable proportions, and hefted it. Once again, the balance was unfamiliar to him - perhaps he had been spoilt by fighting with arms forged for him by Elyan and the previous royal smiths. This blade would do, however. It had a white pommel, perhaps of bone, which was carved in the shape of a dragon's head, which he decided to interpret as a good omen. The dragon had garnets for eyes, glowing with red fire, red as the standards of Camelot.

_Red as my father's hands, and mine. But Holgier speaks truly. Kings' hands have never been clean. It is only in our age of romance and gentle manners that we draw a cloak of virtue over our murderous deeds. A knight is a killer with a code of ethics. Why should I be ashamed of what I am? Didn't my father take his kingdom from his kinsmen on the point of his own sword? Only… if I am a killer, let me not kill without purpose. I must remember the knight's code as well, else I am not better than a common cutthroat. _

Nodding his satisfaction, Arthur returned to the centre of the clearing. Gunnar, following his lead, took up a shield and sword, which he handled with much more familiarity and dexterity than Arthur had done, and went to a position opposite to Arthur's, facing him. The other Danes hastened to light torches, and surrounded the two combatants, forming the circumference of an invisible circle. Somehow Arthur knew that to be pushed beyond these borders would be to lose ground in the challenge, perhaps the match itself.

The circle inscribed by the spectators, like the clearing itself, was the same shape as the arena in Camelot. In place of stands filled with onlookers were the silent trees of the forest. There was no king to salute, no priest to add his blessing to the proceedings. Nor were there proud beauties of the fair sex to inspire the fighters to greater valour, waving their silken kerchiefs in admiration, or loudly voicing their acclaim.

In this space there were but two men and two blades. And two wills.

"Gunnar," said Holgier. "You know the way. Fight with your man-strength only, but do not hold back. The southerners keep the old ways no longer, and if a man is slain, his kin may demand the blood-geld. A man's blood-geld is of no concern to us here, whether a king's or a thrall's. And steel is only known when it is thrust into the fire. So do not stay your hand."

"I know what I must do, Holgier," said Gunnar.

"Arthur," said Holgier, "your titles mean nothing here. In this circle, a man has as much rank as he can balance on the edge of his blade, no more and no less. Anointing by priests, and crowns of gold placed on your brow, mean naught here. Lordship demands proof by steel and sinew. Do not fear to strike Gunnar. If any man touched a hair of Gunnar's head outside this challenge, his brothers would avenge him sevenfold. But within this circle, if you slaughtered our own children, we would bear you no grudge. Make your strength known to us."

"I will," said Arthur. He glanced about him. The darkness was almost fully upon them, the orange light of the torches now replacing the soft gloom of dusk. The wind sighed through the branches, and the birds and beasts seemed to have fallen silent, as breathless as any spectators at a tourney. The soil of the clearing was uneven, but no more so than the grounds Arthur had trained in. Strange as these men, these rituals and this place were to him, why did they feel so familiar?

"I recognise this," said Arthur. "I believe your ways were known to my forebears. I will fight as truly and manfully as my opponent. This is nothing but a knight's duel, with everything external stripped away, as you said. Though there is no judge or priest to officiate, this must be a trial by combat, and Providence will intervene on the side of the victor."

Holgier made a noise of amusement. "There judges and priests among us, too, Arthur Utherson," he said. "Those with the Holy Ghost or knowledge of the Law are powerful in their ways. But there was a time when warriors alone made both the laws and the offerings to the Heavenly Father. You do not need your bishop here to whisper your prayers for you, as if you were a mute. The gods, old and new, are always watching, especially where men of war are gathered.

"Out here, the sky is our chapel. The wind is our confessor, and the hawk and raven carry our prayers to heaven. The bear in his den is our cloistered monk, and the wandering wolves are our barefoot friars. The herds of deer are our congregation, and the nightingales sing sweeter than any choir of sisters. Our swords take the Host, for they bite the flesh of our enemies and drink of their blood… Listen, Arthur. A warrior's blade, baptised in the heart's blood of your foe, is as powerful as any priest's consecrated staff. Heaven is in the palm of your hand, wherever you go… "

And Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, and felt the truth of Holgier's words settle on him. What did it really matter that he couldn't injure dragons or oppose his sorcerous sister? Was he really helpless against his foes because he couldn't conjure up magic like Merlin? In the society of warriors, the blade itself had its own magic. There was power in him, which had been held back by fear for too long.

Someone began to beat a drum with rhythmic, steady blows, as if sounding the pulse of the forest. Another struck up a tune on a lute, and began to sing in a low, haunting voice, words in a speech Arthur understood not, and yet somehow the meaning was plain. Arthur's ear was accustomed to the gentle voices of women choristers, and the cultured ballads of minstrels. There was something alien, wild and rough in the Dane man's voice, yet it was also dreamlike and pure, the notes cascading across one another like the frozen fires of heaven in the northern sky, all studded with silver stars. The song held Arthur's heart, and he knew the double-edged blade of the warrior's life: honour and glory in battle, sorrow at death on all sides, the gain of treasure and the loss of kin, a name that endured forever, and a life that ended in the space of a blood-choked breath.

Arthur opened his eyes, and his gaze met Gunnar's. Arthur had no visor to raise, so he lifted his sword instead, holding it up beside his head in a makeshift salute. Gunnar nodded at him, raised his own sword in return, and kissed the blade just above the hilt. Then he let the weapon fall, and his stance shifted, the sword and shield moving to a ready position. Arthur also dressed his shield and hefted his sword, again slightly put off by the balance of both.

They said the Northmen had ice flowing in their veins. Arthur would show that the Pendragons had fire flowing in theirs, fire hot enough to melt even the frosty hearts of these proud northern barbarians.

Seeing that both contestants stood ready, Holgier shouted a single word, and Gunnar launched himself towards Arthur with inconceivable speed, his tanned limbs flashing, blade gleaming.


	28. The Descent

_Per me si va ne la città dolente,  
__per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,  
__per me si va tra la perduta gente._

_Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create  
__se non etterne, e io etterno duro.  
__Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate._

Through me one goes into the city of woe,  
Through me one goes into eternal pain,  
Through me among the people that are lost.

Before me there was naught created,  
Save eternal things; and I eternal last;

_Abandon all hope, ye that enter here!_

\- Dante Aligheri, _Divina Commedia._ Translation by Courtney Langdon.

* * *

They rode southwards for all of the next day, keeping to the forest and avoiding the main pathways as much as they could. It should not have been possible for the horses to travel as swiftly as they did, but Finna worked some sort of charm, which made the beasts as surefooted in the rough woodland terrain as though they were galloping on flat roads.

"Why did you ask me to accompany you?" Elyan had asked the Druidess, shortly after they had departed Arthur's camp.

"For protection," Finna had said.

"Protection?" Elyan had been confused. "From what I've seen, you and Merlin are both powerful sorcerers. I don't think any company of fighting men would give you trouble."

"'Tis not men that I fear," said Finna. "Keep that sword from your forge close by you."

Merlin had said, "Must you be so cryptic, Finna? Speaking to you is like speaking to a dragon sometimes."

Finna had smiled at that. "Didn't Kilgharrah tell you that speech is as sacred among the Druids as among his kind?"

"Could you at least tell us what frightens you? I thought we were going to commune with the shade of my father."

"We are."

"Then… you can't think that he would try to hurt me?"

"I do not believe your father means you harm. But we are riding to a place where the Veil between the worlds is thin. I have spoken with the dead many times, and it is always dangerous. For when one calls out to a dead soul, one never knows what else will answer the summons. And when one opens a Gateway to the Otherworld, there are many things that may seek to pass through. As a rule, the dead do not love the living, and it is wise not to disturb their rest."

Merlin did not feel reassured by that, and almost wished he had let Finna's words remain unclear.

The woods were beautiful in the month of April, for the fertile power of the Earth was surging in preparation for summer. To ride in the deep green shade of the trees was so much more pleasant than going on the pathways made by men. Despite the anxieties burdening him, there were long periods where Merlin could let his thoughts wander, and simply take in the scenery. Whatever Finna had done to the horses, she had thrown some glamour over them, so that they appeared more a part of the forest than before. Creatures that would have usually been frightened away by the sound of hoofbeats did not seem distressed by the riders.

Lush carpets of wildflowers covered the fields, sending up sweet perfume, and raucous birdsong weighed down the air. Swift streams and creeks rushed over stony beds with silvery music. Insects hovered, flashing like jewels, and bright birds darted to catch them. A vixen watched them pass with her clever yellow eyes, her downy kits peeping their faces out of their den in curiosity. Red deer loped through the trees, their speckled fawns stumbling on their limbs, reminding Merlin of the unsteady lambs and kids he had helped deliver back home in Ealdor. Once they saw a stag with a regal set of antlers twining on his brow, so much more awe-inspiring than a human king's crown, so that it was no surprise the churchmen said the crown-of-thorns of their Saviour graced these forest lords.

That night they made camp by a stream, and sat around a blazing fire. Finna passed around some herbal drinks which warmed them wonderfully.

"In the old days," the Druidess said wistfully, "spring was a time of celebration. Fertility returned to the land, and all rejoiced. But it was also a time of danger, for prosperity could attract the attention of the Fair Folk. The old people left out fresh milk and the first fruits of the harvest as tithes to the elves, in the understanding that they would take their share and leave the rest of their goods alone. The Druids wove garlands and put up charms to protect their cattle, their farms, even their children, for the Fair Folk love all new and beautiful things.

"In Elfland, time passes differently, and the Fey are immortal, so they are old, old beings. Never experiencing death, they can never truly experience youth, or rebirth. It is said they take the first fruits, and new flowers, and children, for they are fascinated by all things young and fragile and newborn. Their world is old and undying. Our short, clumsy lives intrigue them… remind them of things they knew once, and can never know again… in a strange way, they envy our mortality, for without death, they can never change or grow as we do...

"Oh, and after spring! When summer came, we celebrated Beltane. Not as you do in Camelot now, where it is just another festival, on which you listen to bishops drone, and praise your Resurrected God, and chant hymns in stone churches. In those days, the Druids celebrated the power of the Sun, which is greatest in summer, and from which all Fire comes. All the people of the land doused their hearth-fires. Then the chief Druids would gather in a sacred place, and invoke the blessing of Belenus, the Bright God, and kindle a great bonfire in his name, a flame blazing with the light of prosperity to come into the land. And from that great pyre, flames would be taken to all the households of the kingdom to relight the hearths and lamps and candles. The whole country would be aglow with heat and light. And new food would be cooked by those fires, and cattle would be passed between them, and couples would leap over them, and pledge their love to each other…"

Merlin looked at Finna in the light of the campfire, and for the first time he saw her as a woman, not just a Druidess. She seemed ancient, yet in her recollections, she became a little girl again, dredging up memories not just of her own life, but of the whole kingdom of Camelot. It occurred to him that he knew Finna only as a wise force of magic, a sorceress pledged to serve him and the Old Religion. He did not know anything about her life as a young woman, how her family had been persecuted by Uther, what things she remembered witnessing before and after the Purge.

"Finna," Merlin said, "Arthur is the king of legend. You will see all these things from your girlhood return to Camelot, and more. The Druids will be permitted into the city. Your wise men and women will take their place beside the bishops and abbesses. The triskelion will be raised beside the cross. Rhodri will permit this, even if the Archbishop won't. The best of the Old Religion and the New Religion will learn to sit side by side with each other, just as the many peoples and customs of this island will be united under Arthur."

"I pray you are right, Master Emrys," said the Druidess, with tears in her eyes. "Yet I fear you are wrong. Druids are not Elves, to live forever, and Camelot is not Fairyland, to endure for all time. It is the fate of mankind to be lashed by the winds of change. The Druids are dying. It is true that the Old Religion cannot be destroyed, that it will always survive in some form, but a century from now, it will not be any form that my elders recognised. Our descendants will be an alien people to us, our customs forgotten. The past is a land which they will never revisit, except when they dig up our tombs and wonder at our outlandish habits.

"But this is the Way of the Goddess. What is essential to Life will endure and be reborn, generation after generation. Everything else will be scattered in the mists of Time. We must learn to endure loss, and if we cannot, we should go into the Elf Country, and live in a land of illusions, where time stands still, sorrow never enters, and memories and shadows are our only companions."

The mood became sombre after that, and Finna did not speak more. The three of them turned in soon after, Finna assuring them that keeping watch was not necessary, for she would have foreknowledge of anyone drawing close to them in these woods.

Merlin had been pleased to see Finna open up at first. He had wanted to hear her speak of the Old Ways, had wanted to learn more of her people's lore, but not, as it turned out, like this. Now that she shared some degree of familiarity with him, were her lessons and stories always to be mixed with sadness? He remembered how he had felt about magic when he first came to Camelot. It was true, he had learnt shame and secrecy in Ealdor, had suppressed his gifts as much as he could. But reading and hearing snatches of stories about others gifted like him had filled him with hope that magic could be a joyful thing, if he ran away from home and found a place to belong.

Camelot was supposed to be such a city, even though he had seen the brutality of its war against magic on his very first day. He had still held out hope that magic could be a beautiful and wonderful thing. But Gaius' teachings had been mixed with rancour and bitterness, and all his shames and regrets about the Purge. Balinor had seemed more comfortable with his magic, yet he was a broken man, who had lived like a hermit, away from all human company for years. In the end, the only teachings Balinor had given Merlin had come with his dying breaths. Freya had been beautiful, and magical, but her magic was a curse that made her a monster, and only death had freed her from that burden. Gilli had tried to practise magic openly, but he had used it for personal glory and revenge, until Merlin had persuaded him otherwise.

And then there was Morgana! And Mordred…

Merlin turned over in his skins, unable to put his mind at ease. Did he know anyone with magic who had come to a good end? He could not share the view of conservative churchmen that all sorcerers were demon-worshippers, for he had been able to work spells at a very young age, despite never calling upon spirits, or learning from forbidden books. And yet, could he fault people for thinking magic a sign of evil, when all those touched by it seemed to have some heavy misfortune laid on them? And if he were truly Emrys, whom the Druids called the greatest of sorcerers, did that mean he was destined to bear the greatest sorrow of all? If there were a just God, which Merlin often had cause to doubt, perhaps the burden of magic was a curse he placed upon those he wished to punish, or to test more severely than other men.

His mind distracted by these wayward thoughts, Merlin tossed and turned, eventually settling into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was running through the forest, following the tracks of an unknown beast. It was queer, for the prints before him were sometimes made by great paws, and at other times by a man's feet. All was silent, and a pale moon hung in the sky, yet it looked wrong, as did the stars around it, as though the seasons were disjointed. It seemed that Merlin ran under an alien sky. The tree branches were naked, clawing upwards, and of a breed unknown to him. The harsh crying of ravens was the only sound beside the rushing of the wind.

He burst into a clearing, and saw the beasts he had been tracking. There were seven enormous wolves ahead of him, each glowing in the soft moonlight. The lead wolf turned, and looked at Merlin, and suddenly their roles were reversed: now their eyes had met, the wolf was the hunter, and Merlin was the prey.

He ran, and it seemed to him that he now had the body of a stag. His cloven hooves flew across the earth, barely touching it, and there was a heavy crown of antlers on his brow.

_How fitting, _he thought, _that I am wearing the crown-of-thorns. For I am to be the sacrifice. The priests say the king of the forest must die in the hunt, just as the King of Men died on the Holy Mount._

He heard the wolf coming closer, its heavy paws thudding on the ground, and for some reason he felt no fear, even as he sprinted with all his might. This was the Way of the Goddess. Finna had said they must learn to endure loss, for in man's world, nothing lived forever. Everything passed away. They were not Elfkind, immortal, fearing nothing, feeling no sorrow.

When the wolf leapt, its massive bulk bore Merlin to the ground, and he felt its teeth close in his neck, twisting his head up towards the sky. With a jerk, the beast tore out Merlin's throat, and he saw his own blood spurt into the air, droplets hovering against the stars, outlined against the white disc of the strange moon. The liquid fell in slow motion, sprinkling them both.

_This is my body, _Merlin thought, _and this is my blood. I forgive you._

The force of the wolf's charge sent them tumbling and rolling together. They were no longer beasts, but in the shapes of men. Merlin came to rest on his back and the other man was above him, pressing down on him.

Even in the gloom Merlin recognised the face of Arthur, but it was Arthur as Merlin had never seen him. There was fire in his blue eyes, a wild, savage light, as if all the humanity had been cast away from him. The wolf's skin had been shed, but not the wolf's nature. Arthur was a stranger, yet more himself than ever before. Merlin thought him animalistic and beautiful, yet terrifying.

_Arthur also wears a disguise, _thought Merlin. _I thought I was alone, having to take on the shape of Dragoon. The truth is, all men conceal themselves. Arthur has no magic, but there are parts of himself he hid just as I did all those years… only he and I can truly know each other. Soon there will be no more secrets between my king and I, for better or for worse._

He saw the red blood smearing Arthur's lips and face, and knew it was his own, yet he felt no revulsion, only curiosity. Was he mad? He wondered what Arthur's mouth would taste like.

"_Merlin."_

He came awake with a start. Elyan was leaning over him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. Behind the knight's head Merlin saw the first peach tints of dawn staining the sky.

"You slept right through the night," Elyan said. "Did you rest well?"

"More or less," Merlin said uneasily. "You?"

"Alas, no. The wolves were howling all last night, strange music for a new moon. I'm surprised they didn't wake you."

Merlin shivered, and hastened to rise and busy himself with breaking camp.

When they were ready to ride again, Finna said, "We are close to a lake that is sacred in the Old Religion. All waterways had power in the old days, and even the new Church recognises this, for their pilgrims go to wells and springs to be cured of sickness, though they make their saints responsible now. But there is a danger.

"Not all bodies of water are the same. Some lakes are placid, while others conceal lurking terrors. Some rivers cleanse and give life, while others have undercurrents that snatch the unwary out to the deeps to drown them. Even so, the magic waterways of old differed in their characters, and their tides were ever-shifting. Once, the High Priestesses and Druids watched over these waters, and protected the unwary.

"Lakes with a connection to the dead have the most treacherous magic. These lakes are doorways, and they may lead to many worlds. They were guarded, once, and the Druids stopped unwanted souls from coming through. Before the Fey and the Elder races were driven from Brython, it was not uncommon to see a Faery woman coming out of the waters. Many a child or unwary man was lured to an alien world, or the land of the dead, by some otherworldly beauty…"

Merlin said, "And you want us to reach Balinor through one of these? Isn't there a safer way?"

Finna said, "There are less perilous ways to touch the minds of the dead, but they are less reliable. You will need a clear connection to your father, and I know not how much time you will take to imbibe the Dragonlore. To speak properly with him, we must take this risk. But in opening this gateway, we must be ready for whatever will rise to challenge us.

"I have knowledge of the Old Religion. Your magic exceeds mine by far, despite your youth. And Elyan's arm and will are strong. But in the absence of the Druids and High Priestesses, the Veil itself may oppose us. We must be on our guard, and have all our wits about us."

They rode on, and though the sun rose, throwing its rays across the land, Merlin felt as though a shade had been drawn across the forest. Perhaps it was Finna's warning, but where yesterday he had seen brightness and light, today his eyes were pulled towards the lurking shadows of death.

The spring birds plucked insects from the air and crushed the life out of them. They carried them back to their nests, where hungry chicks ripped the fragile carapaces apart. The vixen, with her kits, feasted on the hare and her children. The stag with his antlers drove his beaten rival away, to wander the woods and die without mate or offspring. Even the flowers bloomed in blood, their roots nourished by rotten corpses that melted beneath the soil.

Merlin remembered the Spring Lady he had seen as a boy, that strange woman in the woods, beautiful and richy gowned. But underneath her veil and her bright blossoming cheeks were corruption, and the stench of the graveyard. _What a melancholy world this is, _he thought, _where the threads of life and death are so tightly bound together._ And he remembered the wolf in his dreams, and Arthur's mouth red with blood.

They came, eventually, to the shores of the lake, and Merlin could already feel that this was no ordinary place. Thick reeds clustered around the lake, waving gently, and the surface, so clear that it looked like a mirror, reflected the heavenly blue of the sky. The waters were so still it seemed one could plunge straight through them into the sky itself, crossing into the inverse worlds Finna had spoken of.

There were no water-fowl, no flies hovering about the surface. No splash of a fish's tail broke the calm. All was still, lifeless.

They left the horses tied a little way back, and came to the water's edge. Elyan looked around with an apprehensive expression, his hand on his sword-hilt.

"Be ye ready?" said Finna.

Merlin nodded, and Elyan followed suit, more reluctantly.

Finna raised her hands and began to trace patterns in the air. As her fingers waved and danced, ripples spread across the lake's surface, as though the Druidess were agitating something in the depths.

"_Fréon meres!" _Finna called. "_Onwic! Ic onlúcan dor Deáþworulde! Ic geclipe Balinor, Merlin-Fæder! Forþcum, ic gebene þec!"_

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wind picked up, whipping the surface of the lake into a mass of waves. Mist boiled from the water, rising and thickening, blanketing the three companions. The sky darkened, but the waters of the lake glowed brighter, as though light from otherworldly skies were filtering up through its depths.

"The portal is opened," said Finna. "But… it is not Balinor who approaches. Stand ready!"

Elyan drew his sword, and took a couple of paces forward, so that he was slightly ahead of Finna. He had to lean into the wind blowing from the lake, which set the scarlet knight's cloak streaming from his shoulders. The Druidess was tense, her grey robes whipping around her, her eyes squinting into the mists, as she sought the unwelcome thing that had heard her summons.

The fog suddenly blew past them and cleared, and they saw a figure rise from the waters.

"No," said Elyan, stumbling backwards, paling beneath his dark complexion. The hairs on his forearms prickled, standing on end. "My God, no!" His sword dropped from his nerveless fingers, falling in the soft rushes of the shore. The knight raised a trembling hand to his brow, and he made the sign of the cross, again and again.

"_Confiteor," _he breathed. "_Confiteor Deo! _Holy Virgin, and Michael, Prince of Angels, pray for me!"

"Elyan," said the figure of Tom the Blacksmith, dripping with the waters of unknown worlds. His tunic was spotted with red wounds like gaping mouths, and there were two lances still transfixing his body. "Have you returned at last, son? It is good to see that face in death, which I missed so much in life… I lay awake many nights, wondering what we did to drive you away. Your sister hurt more than I did, though Gwen always puts on a brave face. I'm glad you came back to her, eventually. It is no good thing for a man to see his only daughter live alone."

"Father," said Elyan. "I'm sorry. I should have been there for you. I-I wish I'd never left. I wish I'd known how little time we'd have."

"It was not your doing. The war between sorcerers and Uther condemned me. Nimueh's malice, and Merlin's compassion sentenced me. What are men like us to kings and sorcerers? Chattel. No more than animals, pawns in their great wars."

The shade of Tom turned, and looked at Merlin.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Merlin said. "Nimueh's magic would have killed you. I thought I was helping."

"I understand, Merlin," said Tom. "You couldn't have gone against Uther directly. Your destiny is more important than my life. You had to choose between Arthur's father, and the father of my Gwen. And what does anyone else mean to you besides Arthur?"

Merlin's eyes stung, and his throat felt tight.

"Why are you here?" said Finna sharply. "You were not called for. Who sent you?"

"I beg your pardon, mistress," said Tom. "I know you came for the father of a great sorcerer, and not the father of a mere tinsmith."

"I do not despise the blacksmith's art," said Finna. "I chose your son as my companion for a reason. But I mistrust the souls that have passed beyond this world, for there are powers in death's kingdom that may cast their influence over you. Why are you here? Why have you come to us wearing the face of a loved one, yet speaking words made to sow discord?"

"The man you seek," said Tom, "is bound, and unable to answer you. He was the cause of much death and much suffering, like his son. And like his son, he was a traitor to the Old Religion he was born to serve. The High Priestesses have taken his soul to a secret place beyond the gates of Death, and they mean to have it for eternity. They subject him to such torments, that even a man as great as Balinor may have nothing sane left in him by the time you find him."

Merlin started forward involuntarily. "Where is he?" he shouted. "How do I find my father?"

"That is simple enough," said Tom. "You must cross into the kingdom of the lost. But take care not to lose yourself before you find him."

"_No," _said Finna. "The spell was wrought to bring a soul over to this side. We will not play games with whatever is thwarting my magic. I will release your binds now, Tom Blacksmith. Return to your rest in peace."

"No!" said Elyan. "Just a bit longer. Please!"

"The question," said Tom sorrowfully, "is whether _she _will release you. For as you know, Druidess, when you reach for another world, it also reaches for you, and it may not let you go."

"What do you mean?" said Finna. "Are the servants of the Triple Goddess opposing us?"

"No," said Tom, "they have strengthened your spells. Not even you could have foreseen what you did by bringing Emrys here. For there is a mark on him that draws him towards her servants, and they mean to have him."

"Avaunt!" said Finna. "Elyan! Pick up your sword! Emrys! Flee this place!"

Merlin tried to move, but his feet were stuck in place. He looked down, and with a thrill of horror, he saw that the shoreline had disappeared. Dark water was swirling around them. The lake had broken its banks, swallowing the whole land. The black floodwaters rose - or were they sinking?

Finna was hissing spells, her eyes flickering gold, but to no avail. Elyan was unmoving, sinking into the waters, staring at his father with such a hollow and tender expression that Merlin felt touched, even in the midst of horror.

A moment later, darkness closed over Merlin's head, and he felt himself falling into nothingness. Curiously, he was resigned and distant, as he had been in the stag-dream when the wolf had come to slay him.

_At least I will see my father again, soon, _he thought. _But Arthur, I wonder if Arthur-_


	29. The Wounded King

Love is given in Nature… the qualities inducing love induce mutual approach.

Spells and magical acts in general draw men together and make them share experiences at a distance… a word spoken quietly acts on what is far off, and makes something separated by an enormous distance listen; and from this one can learn the unity of all.

\- Plotinus, _Enneads, _c. 270 AD.

* * *

The soul is all things together… and since it is the centre of all things, it has the forces of all… it is the true connection of all things.

But why do we think that love is a _magician? _Because the whole power of magic consists in love. The work of magic is the attraction of one thing by another because of a certain affinity of nature.

\- Fr Marsilio Ficino, _De Vita _and _De Amore _(Latin commentary on Plato's _Symposium_), 1484. Translated by Jayne, 1985.

* * *

When Merlin recovered his senses, he was sprawled facedown on a stretch of sand. Raising himself and opening his eyes, he looked wildly around, and saw that he was in a small rock chamber, lighted by a single torch ensconced in a wall. By its light, he beheld that he was alone, but for a single damsel who stood watching him from a little distance away.

He scrambled to his feet, and he heard sounds echoing through the rock, which at first he took to be the surging and breaking of faraway ocean waves. Soon, however, he perceived they were the muted voices of hundreds of people, groaning and sighing together in some nightmarish chorus.

"No," he said, as he remembered all that had transpired, and recognised the features of the woman who stood in front of him. "Gwen? Why are you here? You're not… "

"Be not afraid," said the woman. Her voice was as soft as a silk train whispering on flagstones, yet metallic as a plucked harp string. "I wear the face of one you know, but I am no human woman. I am a _Charis. _In your language, I am a _spiritus, _or genius_._"

Merlin drew back involuntarily. "What do you want with me?" he said.

Now that Merlin looked at the creature properly, he saw that she was not an exact replica of Gwen. It was as though someone had painted a portrait of Guinevere imperfectly, from memory. For in some respects Gwen's features were too blemishless to be truly mortal, and in others, they were misty and unclear, with the quality of a reflection wavering in still water. The arrangement of the woman's hair was regal, and her pale rose-hued gown was likewise of a splendid appearance, though both were in a style that was antiquated and otherworldly. A brilliant light shone on her, though she stood some way from the single torch.

"I arrested your fall, young warlock," said the being. "I had thought to offer you aid in this place."

"And what do you want in return?" said Merlin, on his guard. Where were Finna and Elyan? "In my experience, magical beings don't offer help for nothing."

The spirit, whatever it was, did not move, but the light about its person blazed brighter, and its voice became louder, vibrating with brassy tones. "What payment did you expect when you saved the Druid boy's life? When you saved the Pendragon sorceress? When you spared the Great Dragon?"

"… nothing."

"And you are a magical being, Emrys, are you not?"

"I suppose I am," Merlin conceded.

"Then you have demonstrated that some magical beings act without self-interest. So why doubt my motives? In this realm, whatever you hold in your heart shapes the world around you. And there is much shadow inside you, Emrys, but there is light, also. That spark of fire within you called out to me. I saw you drowning in darkness, and I brought you to this place to recover."

"Then I suppose I owe you thanks," said Merlin.

"You owe me nothing," said the spirit. "I am what men in your world called Charity, or Grace, in earlier days, though they have forgotten my existence now. I am help given without forethought of return. I am virtue that is its own reward. I am no stranger to you, for I have lived within your breast since you were a boy."

Merlin was silent for a bit. Then he said, "Where are my companions? Elyan and Finna? Are they all right?"

"I cannot say."

"What is this place? Is this where men of the Old Religion go when they die? I need to find my father, Balinor. Can you tell me if any other Dragonlords are here?"

The spirit shook her head. "I am sorry, Emrys. Some of your questions I do not have leave to answer, for such knowledge is concealed until you pass beyond the Veil for the final time. And most of your questions I do not have the means to answer, for I am not a spirit of _gnosis_, to offer up the wisdom of the underworld. I have but the power to aid, not to teach."

"Then what _can _you tell me?"

"I cannot tell you where the Dragonlords lie. There is no one destination to which all men of the Old Religion go. For the paths that men tread after death are as many and varied as those they walk in life. As for this place, we are in a shifting world, somewhere between the living and the dead. There are numberless spirits here, and living souls who wander, trapped, like you. Many will never find their way back to life again..."

"Elyan's father... He said the Goddess had put her mark on me. That her servants wanted me."

"There is an aspect of the Goddess who rules over the land of Death. She marked you of old. Her servants hunt you even now. It were well you concluded your business swiftly and departed this place before they found you. I have concealed you, for a time, but they have much power here."

"What do they want with me?"

"Most of the Goddess' servants hold you a traitor to her will. They would bind you here, where they, as you, are stronger than in the world of flesh and blood."

"Then I will find my father and get out," said Merlin. "Please. Tell me how to find him."

"In this place," said the spirit, "your thoughts form the world around you. Your father is as near as your breath, yet farther than the stars. For the gulfs within the human heart dwarf any distance in space. But you possess a gift, Emrys, an advantage over most souls here. You are practised in shaping invisible things. Working the Art Magic is not so different from travelling in these lands."

"What must I do?"

"I can only aid you in remembering what you already know. What did you do when you looked in the Crystals? When you first spoke the Dragontongue? Perhaps you should recall when you hatched the new dragon into the world, for you brought something from death into life, then... Magic lies in knowing the true nature of a thing, and in seeing that all things are bound to each other. A sorcerer can draw fire to himself, or fling it away, just as the lodestone draws iron, and the lunar sphere pulls the tides. He must develop affinity with the thing he seeks..."

Merlin closed his eyes and went down on one knee, splaying his right hand on the floor of the chamber. He wiggled his fingers slightly, feeling every grain of sand rasping against his skin. He took a deep breath, giving his head a little shake, as if to throw off every distraction.

There was a pulse under the ground here, faint but insistent. Remembering the spirit's words about how this land shaped itself to a person's will, Merlin slowed his breathing, emptying himself of everything but the sensation of the sand particles sliding beneath his fingers. His heartbeat and the pulse in the ground slowly began to synchronise. The flow of his breaths, in and out, became one with the sighing and groaning borne on the wind.

In its rawest, purest form, his gift had manifested in childhood from something unbidden and untaught. That old magic, based on instinct and fancy, had faded as he'd grown older. He had gained control, but lost the spontaneity and freedom of his childish spellcraft. And yet there was a place in him where time stood still, where the playfulness of his childhood self still existed.

He had not known anything about the theory of sorcery in those early days. He had only desired things, and wished for them, with the simplicity of a babe. An infant was totally dependent, a screaming ball of needs. It cried out, with blind, trusting faith, for milk, for the warmth of an embrace, and the world shaped itself to its wanting. How could something so powerless make the adults around it dance like puppets on strings? It was because, Merlin realised, a bond of sympathy existed between the child and its caregiver.

Sympathy was what the scholars of magic termed an attractive force. Some named it Eros, calling it an angel or a _daimon _of desire. There were all kinds of sympathies in the natural world, such as those which drew the heavy elements to the centre of the Earth, or made Fire rise, or stirred the tides, or made the heavenly spheres revolve. And the child Merlin, somehow, had managed to create a sympathy not just with the people around him, but with the forces of Nature. No one had told him it was impossible. He had wished for things, and the raw matter of the world had shaped itself according to his desire. Perhaps even an adult sorcerer could, if he were audacious or child-like enough, stand as a fulcrum between all these great natural motions.

Merlin became vaguely aware that his fingers were tracing patterns in the soil, abstract shapes he did not consciously recognise, but which reminded him of the mystical glyphs used by magicians to amplify their power.

He remembered Finna telling him that he must be an intermediary, connected to the land in place of the Druids. He must be the anchor point for Arthur, for it was not sufficient for a king to be crowned by the bishops anointed with the Holy Spirit. The king must also be rooted in the soil of his country, in the Earth which the Druids tended.

_I am the land, and the land is the king. The king's roots are within the land... the king is within me._

_Dragons, _Kilgharrah had said, _are creatures of mind, and will, and speech. Language is essential to our nature._

There was a place within Merlin that still held the memory of Balinor. It was a place he had not returned to since that fateful day, for he had experienced so much death and loss in his life that he could not afford to dwell on any one memory for too long.

_I felt him there with me, Gaius, _Merlin had said, that very first night after he had used the Dragonlord's gift, and driven Kilgharrah away from Camelot.

_He'll always be with you, _Gaius had said.

_I hope so._

Balinor was a warning, a vision of Merlin's future. He was a reminder of what a sorcerer would become if a wedge were driven between him and the king he served. Without his old king, without his fellow Dragonlords, his wife or kin, Balinor had stagnated like a tree cut off from its roots. _We need connection to others to remain whole, _Merlin realised. _Perhaps sorcerers most of all. Maybe that was why I was so desperate to leave Ealdor. I knew I wouldn't survive without somewhere to belong..._

And Uther was the inverse of Balinor, a reminder of what a king, alienated from the land and the Old Religion, could transform into. By destroying the practitioners of magic, he had stolen the hope of community from his own daughter, and sealed her doom as well. Merlin felt an echo of shame as he remembered his role in keeping Morgana isolated. _I could have told her there were other people like her. I could have helped her. What might she have become instead..._

_That alienation will never happen to Arthur and me, _Merlin thought. _We are connected to each other still. And now he knows what I kept hidden, nothing else must be allowed to come between us. I cannot allow it. The consequences for either of us would be too dire..._

But right at this moment, it was a connection to Balinor, not Arthur, that he needed.

There was silence in the chamber for several heartbeats. Then the warlock's dark head rose, with such gravity, it seemed to bear an invisible weight on its brow. The eyes snapped open, flaring with golden light.

"Balinor," Merlin said, and the ground quivered beneath his feet. The agitated sand under the warlock's right hand shone, lines of arcane fire tracing curves and angles in strange geometries. The torch flame on the wall streamed in a sudden burst of wind, and then went out, plunging all into darkness.

A moment later, light returned, and Merlin saw a portal in the rock face ahead of him, a pair of sturdy stone doors. He stood, and walked towards the exit.

The spirit which had taken Gwen's form was no longer to be seen.

_Charity and grace have abandoned me, _Merlin thought. _Perhaps they have no power beyond this door. _

Or perhaps, more comfortingly, as the spirit had said, those virtues were still within Merlin, even if they no longer took a visible form.

If he could call out to an unknown spirit in this place without even meaning to, surely that meant his magic could also span the distance between him and his father. But… did that mean there were other, darker things in this world that would also be alerted by his magic, things that would hear him blundering about in their realm?

It didn't matter. Whatever was waiting for him, he must pass through it to reach his father, to find Elyan and Finna, and to return to the land of the living before the dragon broke her peace. Before she vented her fury on the innocent citizens of Albion, and punished Arthur for his father's sins.

Merlin raised a hand, and the doors before him sprang open at his touch. He went through.

* * *

When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

\- Kahlil Gibran, _The Prophet._

* * *

Arthur fell back, breathing hard, his sweat-soaked fringe plastered to his brow. He had thought the long hair of the Danes impractical at first, but he envied it now, for in battle they wore it tied back and cunningly braided so that it would not impair their vision.

When the combat had first begun, Arthur had determined to take the defensive, as he was in strange company and had multiple disadvantages. He had never seen Gunnar fight before, and although he had witnessed one or two Danish soldiers fighting in Camelot, those men had been more conventional fighters. There was something different about Holgier's men.

Gunnar's speed and strength were almost beyond Arthur's belief. The lad had sensed Arthur giving him an opening, and, perhaps emboldened by his familiarity with the weapons and the presence of his countrymen, had been only too happy to take the lead. He had come at Arthur in a direct assault, his feints deft and his footwork nimble, and when his blade struck, there was a tremendous amount of weight behind it, so that Arthur could scarcely credit that such power came from that slender, albeit well-muscled, frame.

Arthur had remained on the defensive for a long time, and he suspected the Northmen had developed doubts about his supposed valour. He began to get a read on Gunnar. The youth was an exceptional fighter, which fit with his station as a berserker. He was an elite warrior, accustomed to victory in the most deadly combat. But although Arthur and Gunnar were the same age, there was a difference between them.

Gunnar was no king. Arthur suspected he had no wife or children, either. He fought the way Arthur had done as the First Knight of Camelot, the way Arthur still did sometimes: with single-minded ferocity and no regard for his safety. He exerted his body to the point where it seemed superhuman, and he had no fear of death, only of dishonour. Perhaps he thought Arthur's initial caution shameful, or mistook it for indecision.

_He's swift, _Arthur had thought. _Yet he hits with deadly force. His blade moves with the speed of a rapier and cuts like a broadsword. I have no armour, and can't afford to take a direct hit. I will have to wear him down slowly. This will be a war of attrition; it will be good if he thinks me cowardly and expends his strength against my shield. _

The Dane lad moved like nothing Arthur had seen before, but over time he observed a pattern in the Northman's approaches. When Gunnar's movements were most controlled, most like conventional fighters, his blows were less forceful. It was when Gunnar put on a burst of speed or unnatural strength that something changed, and Arthur saw Gunnar's balance shift more recklessly. The way he lunged at those times reminded Arthur of the tales that berserkers got their strength from wild beasts.

_When he is pressing me hard he gives me an opening, _Arthur thought.

His first counter-strike took the Dane by surprise. He put all his strength behind the blow, and his blade slipped over Gunnar's shield and bit into the left shoulder. Instantly, Arthur danced away, knowing he could not afford to take a hit in return. When he was safely out of range he looked at Gunnar in satisfaction.

The Dane's shoulder had been cut, but it bled no more than a drop or two.

It was Arthur's turn to be surprised. _I felt the cut go deeper than that. By the saints… is it true the skin of these warriors turns the very blade?_

It was going to be a longer combat than Arthur anticipated.

The fight stretched on, Arthur and the Dane exchanging several blows. Arthur was more controlled, more strategic, and landed more hits than his opponent. But since Gunnar's arm was hefty, and he seemed to shrug off even direct cuts, and barely tired for all his exertions, Arthur looked much the worse for it. Both men had sweat pouring down their limbs, but the liquid on Arthur's body ran with more red.

_This can't go on, _Arthur thought. _He'll wear me down first at this rate. If I'm to win, to survive, I must change the game. _An idea came into his mind. It was audacious, and he would only get one chance to attempt it. He returned to the defensive, conserving his strength and speed. He hoped that Gunnar, with the self-assurance born of sheer strength, would assume Arthur was merely tiring from the unrelenting assault and loss of blood. And, after all, Arthur was.

When he saw the next opening, Arthur took it without hesitation. He turned his shield, angling it so that he deflected Gunnar's strike away. At the same time he feinted, and then his blade doubled back past Gunnar's shield in two swift motions. The first cut struck Gunnar's sword arm at the wrist joint, weakening his grasp on his weapon, and with the second sweep, the edge of Arthur's blade hooked under the hilt of Gunnar's sword, and tossed it into the air.

Arthur did not have the finesse or showmanship of Gawaine, from whom he'd learnt this technique, and he didn't have a free arm to catch Gunnar's sword in any case. But he sent the Northman's blade tumbling away, almost beyond the circle of his compatriots, and then Arthur's own sword was at the thunderstruck Gunnar's throat.

"Yield," said Arthur, loudly and forcefully. "I have bested you."

A sudden bestial fury burned in Gunnar's brown eyes, but he controlled himself, and his gaze darted towards Holgier.

Holgier gave a guffaw of approval. "I thought Utherson would disappoint us! The cunning dragon was hiding his tricks all along. Well, Gunnar has lost the combat, Utherson. His life is in your hands. By right it belongs to you."

Arthur, now that he had assurance the fight was over, pulled his weapon away from Gunnar's throat immediately, feeling weariness crash over his body. "I have no desire to harm any of you. Much less such a valiant warrior, who acquitted himself so well against an unknown foe."

"Gracious in victory, and humble," said Holgier. "Perhaps there are things we may learn from you, too, Utherson. The combat is concluded!"

Immediately the men in the circle moved, some going to Gunnar, while others went to Arthur. The two combatants were bade sit down, and offered beer and smoked meats. A fire was kindled. Rough-handed men washed the blood from Arthur's wounds, before cleansing them with wine, and rubbing balsam on the cuts with surprising tenderness. Arthur, remembering the times Gaius had fussed over him after jousts, and the touch of Gwen's gentle hands as she'd bound his wounds, felt a wave of homesickness.

Holgier was absorbed in some deep conversation with two of his older warriors. After a while, he came and sat beside Arthur.

"I do not think you realise what you achieved by enduring against one of our own," Holgier said to Arthur. "Berserkers have no fear of death, because we have already visited its domain."

"Visited it?" asked Arthur, feeling light-headed. The beer he'd gulped down was strong, and had a strange taste in it. "What do you mean? A sorceress conjured the shade of my mother, once… I got to speak with her, or at least something resembling her. But you are no sorcerer, are you?"

"The poets say," replied Holgier, "there was a time when warriors and sorcerers were not different from each other. In our age everything has become divided. Men are specialised, and spend their whole lives learning one craft: war, priestcraft, sorcery, smithing. In the old days our ancestors mastered many arts. Perhaps they lived longer, or were merely more powerful in those days. But, even now, just as a sorcerer may pick up a sword, a warrior may call upon forces that are magical."

"Is this how you fight dragons?" Arthur said. "Will you explain it to me now?"

"We believe," said Holgier, "that you are worthy to learn something of our craft. Had we time, we could have initiated and tested you properly. But the _skalds _speak of a great king in the south who unites the Brythons. And, we shall know soon enough… " He paused. "A long time ago, our ancestors, who were great warriors, learnt the trick of parting their souls from their bodies."

Arthur's head began to pound. "How does that help you fight?" he asked. He was just now feeling the exhaustion of the long trek through the woods, the terrible fight, the many wounds he'd taken and the blood he'd lost. He remembered riding into the flames of the dragon, ready to welcome death. After all, the beast had said he'd see his father again, and sometimes, the prospect of dying didn't seem so bad. If it weren't for the duty he owed to his people by ruling them, wouldn't it be restful to lay this burden down? Even for just a little while...

"We are hunters," said Holgier. "In order to hunt a beast, we must first develop a bond with it. Understand its heart. Study its ways. Speak to it, soul to soul."

"Like Merlin did with the dragon," said Arthur. "Do you say there are people who can commune with beasts, even without sorcery?"

"Indeed," said Holgier. "And one can do more than that. One can take the soul of a beast into his own body."

A strange feeling began to steal over Arthur, almost of dread. "The stories… that you can become animals… "

"None of us have that power," said Holgier. "Though perhaps we could acquire it, if we wished. Among us, when we hunt a wolf or a bear, we borrow the strength of the hunter after we kill it. We consume it, take its power into us. Just as they do when they hunt us. The priests understand. This is my body, they say, when they offer us the Host. And this is my blood. There are ways to take the nature of a thing into oneself..."

"Is that why you want the dragon?"

"There is nothing strange in it. The world is made up of hunters and prey. Dragons feast on us when they can. Why shouldn't we feast on them? They drove us before them like vermin, once, until our ancestors rose up and learnt how to slay them. Dragons are the greatest of hunters, the most magical of creatures. A drop of blood from one's heart makes one a poet, with knowledge of all languages. Smearing their blood on one's flesh makes one invulnerable... you are squeamish, Pendragon. I told you we were hunters, as the dragon is. Don't despise a predator for its nature."

Arthur shook his head. "I just don't see how this is going to help me fight a dragon."

"You will see soon," said Holgier, "for when one eye closes, the other opens. To fight a dragon, we must take on the dragon-nature. You must learn to change your nature."

"And how do I do that?"

"By learning to part your soul from your body."

The flesh on the back of Arthur's neck prickled. "That sounds like dying."

"I told you we do not fear death, because we have seen it."

Arthur looked around. The other Danes had stopped talking, and had taken up positions around the clearing again, mirroring the circle they had made during the combat. They bore weapons and strange tools in their hands. Arthur felt drunk and light-headed. His head swam, and his vision seemed altered. The fire burned strangely slowly, and he could see each individual flame curling and dancing like a living thing, smoke twining upwards like ash ribbons. His eye was drawn to a drop of sweat on Holgier's brow, which gleamed golden in the firelight as it traced a path down his skin.

Arthur stood up suddenly. "So this is what you meant to show me. A ritual. Some kind of warrior rite that will bring me to the verge of death, and make me a berserker if I survive. Is that correct? I have heard of such things being practiced in the olden times."

"That is correct," said Holgier, watching him intently. His eyes were so blue Arthur felt he could fall into them.

"You know that magic is still against the law in most kingdoms. The Church condemns it."

"We all saw," said Holgier, "what happened when the Archbishop tried to enforce that rule on your Herald. You of all people cannot mistrust sorcery."

"I mistrust it not from Merlin," said Arthur. "Because I know him, and what he has done for me. But my sister is a sorcerer. The majority of attempts on my life have come from sorcerers. I may grudgingly trust magic in the hands of someone I trust as my own self, but I am still wary of it."

"A wise choice," said Holgier. "But remember what you thought of dragons before you heard the Dragon Queen speak. It was only after you encountered her that you saw there was beauty in them, that they were not all evil. I think your Herald has begun to show you that the same truth applies to sorcery. But if you are to be king in Albion, king of _all _Albion, you cannot simply take the word of your counsellors. You will never be a sorcerer, but there are truths of magic you can experience directly. They are your right, if you are a true warrior."

Arthur took a deep breath. This was beyond the pale of foolishness.

"Describe the rite to me," he said.

"It is very simple," said Holgier. "When our youths are initiated, they are cast out of their homes, driven to the borders of our civilisation. They must learn to survive and live as wild beasts, and find their way back home. Once they have proven their hardiness, they are welcomed back into our fellowship."

"But you said you don't have time to initiate me."

"No, Arthur Utherson," said Holgier. "Yours will be the final test, a mirror of the first initiation. Every man in this clearing has lived through it. In this rite, your body will be wounded unto the point of mortal peril. Your soul will be cast out of its home, this body, to wander the wilderness. If it finds its way back, if the body and soul reunite and knit together, they become something strong beyond imagining."

"If they fail?" said Arthur.

"Then the body dies, and the soul passes on to its next resting place," said Holgier.

"This is deep and dangerous magic," said Arthur. "It is folly to risk a king's body like this, when my Herald will return soon, and overpower the dragon himself."

"Arthur Utherson," said Holgier. "You risk your kingly body every day you ride on the battlefield, or joust, or charge a dragon, and for far less potential return. We have heard of your deeds in the North. You are not like other southern kings, who think the royal body is a corpse to sit at home in a jewelled vault, embalmed and dressed in fine silks before its time, protected from the elements. You understand that in the Old Way, the king's body belongs to the land and its people, and is the first to be offered up for them. We saw you do so for your Herald, whom others called a boy of no consequence.

"Tell me truly, does it sit well with you that your Herald should risk all for you, sojourning to the realms of magic to gain wisdom and power, perilling his own body, while you do nothing?"

"Indeed it does not," said Arthur. "And would that I could aid him with the warrior's art that I know. But this… ritualism, combining swordcraft with magics of the Old Religion, is strange to me."

"This is not so strange to you as you think, Pendragon. When you southerners are knighted, you spend the final Vigil in fasting and prayer, emptying your body of all impurities, filling it with the Holy Ghost. After meditation you are anointed by the Archbishop, and you receive a quest in a vision… is this not your final rite? Our way is the older way. We require no priest's mediation. Your body is emptied in a more brutal fashion. This is the warrior's initiation. This is how knights are made among us. It is no different to your rite, only older and fiercer."

"Do you really think this will make me able to withstand a dragon?" Arthur asked.

"Pendragon," said Holgier, "the power one acquires during this quest depends on his soul's nature. Some warriors gain the ferocity of the wolf, others the strength of the bear, yet others the cunning of the raven. You will come back with as much glory as you are able to win for yourself, just as a knight who raids an enemy's fort brings back as much treasure as his valour affords him. It depends on how long you can endure the final sacrifice… what visions you see, and what insights you bring back, only you can know. What nature of beast are you?"

Arthur did not know what made him assent to this madness. He felt he was being borne by some impetus beyond his control, and yet, paradoxically, he felt he was making a free choice for the first time in years, breaking free of the restraints placed upon him as king.

Things moved quickly after that. Holgier brought forth a goblet filled with mead, and mixed into it a dark liquid from an ornate bottle. He bade Arthur drink it, and the concotion felt like liquid fire, burning Arthur's throat and warming him all the way down to his insides, where the warmth spread to his extremities and filled him with a tingling energy. He felt a sudden roaring in his ears.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Dragon's blood," said Holgier.

"Dragon's blood!" Arthur spluttered. "Isn't that poison?"

"The dose makes the poison," Holgier said. "It may kill or cure, depending on the constitution."

They stripped Arthur then, anointing him with strange unguents, and afterwards placing a loincloth on him of barbaric design, with nothing else to preserve his modesty. Holgier stood in front of Arthur, sipped a few drops of dragon's blood from the bottle, and suddenly spat in Arthur's eye. Arthur felt fire spreading through the organ, and his head felt fit to burst.

"You've blinded me," he said.

"It is but temporary," said Holgier. "The Eye of Flesh must close, so that the Eye of Spirit may open."

As Arthur reeled from the overwhelming sensations punishing his body, men came to either side of him, bracing him. They began to lead him towards the edge of the clearing, towards a gigantic tree.

What had Holgier said? That the taste of dragon's blood could give one knowledge of all languages? Perhaps that were true, because the forest around Arthur seemed to be roaring with sounds now. As well as the pounding in his ears, he could hear the grass and trees themselves whispering to him. The calls of the birds and the cries of beasts seemed like the war cries of his vassals in Camelot, acclaiming him as the lord of hunters.

And perhaps Holgier was right about the Eye of Spirit opening - or was Arthur merely hallucinating? What would ingesting raw dragon's blood do to a man's mind and vision? For as they approached the tree, which had been inscribed with mystic runes by the knives of the Danes, Arthur seemed to see through the soil itself. The roots of the tree snaked downwards, writhing on and on, until they struck into the very heart of the world. And the trunk of the tree was all afire with burning runes, and its branches stretched impossibly high, reaching into the heavens, holding up the sky, and its leaves unfolded as a billion shining stars, each containing entire worlds.

They bound Arthur's arms and legs with rope, and hoisted him off the ground, like a prisoner about to be executed by crucifixion. He swung in the air for a moment, suspended from a branch, and then the men down below pulled the ropes tight, and Arthur's back was slammed against the massive trunk. The bark of the tree pressed against Arthur's flesh, and the tree seemed to bind to his own nerves, so that he could almost feel its roots questing in the dark earth, and its branches waving in the sky.

He looked down at the men below him, gathered around the tree's base, singing in a foreign language. The words rang in Arthur's mind, the meanings clear as a bell.

_This is Gungnir, the Holy Spear._

_This is the Weapon of the King of Men,_

_The God Who Sacrifices Himself to Himself._

_This is the Rite of the Quest-Giver,_

_The Wayfarer, Battle-Friend,_

_Who Passes Beyond Death and Returns._

They brought forth a long spear, each of them holding it with an attitude of reverence. Holgier looked up at Arthur, seeming to take aim, and Arthur realised that they meant to slay him with it.

_But why do they call that weapon Gungnir, _he thought. _Surely this is the Trident of the Fisher King. Or the Lance of Longinus, which pierced the body of Our Lord._

And Arthur remembered Merlin prattling on the way back from the Perilous Lands.

_The Druids say the king and his land are one, _Merlin had said. _When the Fisher King failed in his destiny, he lost the protection of the Old Religion. His body was wounded, and his land was wounded also. When the king and land are not one, when they turn against each other, they sicken in spirit. When they come together they are healed._

And he remembered Sister Flavia's words, long ago. _Remember that true valour lies not in spilling the blood of others. Remember another king who shed his own blood, that all of his people might live…_

And Arthur understood what he must endure, and bowed his head.

The lance pierced his side, and the pain was so great that he cried out. It seemed to him that the whole forest cried out with him. Great flocks of birds took flight, lamenting their king, and a host of ravens gathered in the branches, cawing, and watching the blood flow down Arthur's flank. He saw blood pouring on the roots, nourishing the great tree, which drank up his life greedily. He felt his own life-fore flowing into the soil, restoring its vitality, nourishing its spirit.

_Let the land be healed, _Arthur thought, _from whatever damage my father and I have done to it. _

The pain in his side grew greater and greater as the blood drained from him. His strength slackened, and his body hung limp and exhausted, dangling broken in the ropes, as the fire of the dragon's blood purged him clean. He felt darkness clouding the edge of his vision, saw the shadows of death's wings approaching.

He lifted his head one final time, and exhaled, and the ravens opened their wings with a great clamour and took flight from the tree's branches, and it seemed to Arthur that his body was left behind hanging empty, while his soul took flight with the dark-winged birds, rising into fire and light.


End file.
